Copyright © Keshab Sigdel za pesmi v izvirniku

Copyright © Vera Pejovič in Peter Semolič za prevode

Copyright © Katja Kuštrin za prevod pesmi Pogrešano sonce Copyright © Bal Bahadur Thapa za izvirnik spremnega teksta Kataložni zapis o publikaciji (CIP) pripravili v Narodni in univerzitetni knjižnici v Ljubljani

COBISS.SI-ID=288512256

ISBN 978-961-94142-1-7 (pdf)

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KESHAB SIGDEL





BARVE SONCA / COLOURS OF THE SUN





Prevedla Vera Pejovič in Peter Semolič

Translated by Vera Pejovič and Peter Semolič





Kulturno-umetniško društvo Poiesis

Ljubljana, januar 2017

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From a Tide to Tranquility: A Glance at Sigdel's Poems Every poet lives in his own time. It's no surprise that Sigdel's poems reflect the time he lives. Despite his inexhaustible obsession with the exploration of nature of reality, one can observe his concern towards his country and his people in his poems. In "Shadows of War", he portrays the plight of an ordinary Nepali woman through irony. The woman keeps waiting for her husband, who has been killed and buried in the courtyard of their own house. This irony only highlights the plight of hundreds of people during the Maoist insurgency in Nepal.

Likewise, Sigdel doesn't seem to be happy with the over stretched transition period Nepal is undergoing at the moment. In

"Metamorphosis", the poet presents our country Nepal as "an Unreal City". Due to our ignorance, we are not aware of all the things we have and thereby fall prey to the cunning politicians'

promises for those very things we already have. And we become ready "to accept our own defacement" for the sake of promised change. At another level, we can still smell the poet's preoccupation with the nature of reality. The unreal itself consists of real. It is another thing that many of us remain unaware of it and thus suffer the defacement and betrayal. Likewise, "Will Power" lays the hypocrisy of Nepali people bare. The so-called bearers of change don't want to undergo change. One certainly wonders if there is a possibility for a change! Because of our own ignorance and hypocrisy, our condition is worsening day by day.



Sigdel explores the consequences of our failures in his poems.

"Opportunity" portrays the irony of life in the poor countries like Nepal, where people are denied opportunities till they are alive and flooded with opportunities at death. Since they are denied their opportunities in their own country, they live with dream of being flooded with opportunities in the developed countries at the cost of their self-annihilation. In "Buffis", Sigdel engages himself 4



Od razburkanosti do spokojnosti: bežen vpogled v pesmi Keshaba Sigdela



Vsak pesnik živi v svojem času. Zato ni presenetljivo, da Sigdelove pesmi odsevajo čas, v katerem živi. Kljub njegovi neutrudljivi obsedenosti z raziskovanjem narave resničnosti lahko v pesmih opazimo skrb za njegovo deželo in ljudi. V Sencah vojne portretira hudo stisko navadne nepalske ženske ironično.

Ženska vztraja v čakanju na svojega moža, ki je bil ubit in pokopan na dvorišču lastne hiše. Ironija tako le še poudari hudo stisko stotin ljudi med maoistično vstajo v Nepalu. Zdi se, da Sigdela še vedno trajajoče obdobje tranzicije v Nepalu ne navdušuje. V Metamorfozi prikaže deželo kot »neresnično mesto«. Zaradi svoje ignorance se ne zavedamo stvari, ki jih imamo, in zato postanemo plen obljub zvijačnih politikov prav v zvezi s stvarmi, ki jih že imamo. In pripravljeni smo, da

»sprejmemo lastno popačenje« v zameno za obljubljene

spremembe. Na drugi ravni pa lahko še vedno čutimo sled pesnikove prevzetosti z naravo resničnosti. Neresnično je sestavljeno iz resničnega. To je še nekaj, česar se mnogi izmed nas ne zavedamo in kar ima za posledico popačenje in izdajstvo.

Volja do moči prav tako razgalja hipokrizijo nepalskega naroda.

Tako imenovani nosilci sprememb se nočejo sami podvreči spremembam. In marsikdo se sprašuje, ali sploh obstaja možnost za spremembe. Zaradi naših ignorance in hipokrizije se položaj pri nas slabša iz dneva v dan.



V svojih pesmih Sigdel raziskuje posledice naših polomij.

Priložnost izrisuje ironijo življenja v revni deželi, kakršna je Nepal, kjer se ljudem odrekajo priložnosti za časa življenja, češ da se jim te ponudijo šele s smrtjo. Ker se jim odrekajo priložnosti zase v svoji lastni deželi, sanjarijo, da bi jih v razvitih deželah priložnosti preplavile, cena za to pa je njihova samozatajitev.V pesmi Buffis se Sigdel ukvarja z aktualnim 5



with a current global problem: refugees. The refugees are living with this 'buffis' of getting settled in the developed countries. The tragedy is even the non-refugees are living with pleasure laced anxiety of migrating to the Western countries. It highlights a very uneven world, where people are inclined to slide to the West from the East! These poems seem to be permeated with Sigdel's humanitarianism shaped by his experiences of being a teacher as well as human rights activist.



The same humanitarianism provokes Sigdel to explore the situation of the human being in the modern world. In "The Chess Game", the poet contemplates on the loss of agency in the modern world. There are numerous forces like family, society, political parties, state and the like, which impose normative values on an individual in such a way that she loses her subjectivity and becomes "a mere dice in flesh and blood".

Similarly, his poem "Uninvestigated" reminds one of Auden's

"An Unknown Citizen". Like Auden's unknown citizen, the life and death of this individual are determined by the modern medical science, which reduces even life into an object of technological failure and success. It's heart-wrenching to learn that the success or meaningfulness of that individual is subservient to technological failure and success. Likewise,

"Identity" delves deep into predicament of an individual in the modern society, which has turned her into numbers. If one removes all these numerical tags, she can see her "temporary identities sink into the oblivion".



Though the types of poems discussed above are razor sharp in their portrayal of plights of human beings in the poet's space, i.e.

Nepal, and the world at large, the real pleasure of reading Sigdel's poetry lies in stumbling upon those poems, which raise difficult philosophical questions about art, reality, life and time. In "Poetry and the Heroine", he explores relation between art and reality.

6



svetovnim problemom: begunci. Begunci živijo z »buffisom«, tesnobnim pričakovanjem, ki izvira iz njihove želje po preselitvi v razvite države. Tragedija je, da celo tisti, ki niso begunci, živijo z zadovoljstvom, tesno prepasanim s tesnobo, saj želijo emigrirati na Zahod. Pesem osvetljuje zelo neenak svet, kjer so ljudje nagnjeni k odhajanju z Vzhoda na Zahod. Zdi se, da so tovrstne pesmi prežete s Sigdelovo človekoljubnostjo, kot se je oblikovala skozi njegovo delo učitelja in aktivista na področju človekovih pravic.



Prav človekoljubje je izzvalo Sigdela, da raziskuje položaj človeka v sodobnem svetu. V Partiji šaha pesnik poglobljeno razmišlja o izgubi zmožnosti delovanja v modernem svetu. Danes obstajajo nešteti dejavniki, kot so družina, družba, politične stranke, države in drugi, ki vsiljujejo posamezniku normativne vrednote tako, da izgubi svojo subjektivnost in postane »tudi sam fugura iz mesa in krvi«. Podobna je tudi njegova pesem Neraziskano, ki spominja na Audnovo pesem Neznani državljan.

Tako kot pri Audnu sta tudi tu življenje in smrt posameznika določena s strani moderne medicine, ki zvede življenje na predmet tehnološkega uspeha in poraza. Srce parajoče je spoznanje, da sta uspeh ali pomembnost lika v pesmi podrejena tehnološkemu porazu ali uspehu. Podobno se tudi v pesmi Identiteta poglobi v zadrego sodobnega človeka, ki je le še številka. Če se odstranijo vse številčne identitete, lahko posameznik vidi, kako njegove »začasne identitete tonejo v pozabo«.



Četudi pesmi, obravnavane do zdaj, izrisujejo z ostrino britve mizerijo ljudi v pesnikovem prostoru oziroma v Nepalu in tudi v širšem svetu, smo deležni pravega užitka ob branju Sigdelove poezije, ko naletimo na tiste pesmi, ki načnejo težka filozofska vprašanja o umetnosti, resničnosti, življenju in času. V pesmi Poezija in junakinja raziskuje odnos med umetnostjo in 7



The poet seems lost when he confronts the object of his art: the nude heroine at the public square. "Fear with the Flower" takes this reflection further. Sigdel describes what suffering a flower has to undergo while bearing new flowers. Do we want to see an artist suffer like this to embrace her creation? Of course, we do.

After all, art comes out of searing agony of human soul. Not surprisingly, Sigdel, in "Wonders of a Leaf", wonders whether art is self destructive. Is the leaf romancing the caterpillar to help the latter turn into a beautiful butterfly? But won't the leaf be destroyed in this romance? Is our love/dream self destructive? Is art self destructive? One can't miss Plath's haunting lines from

"Edge" here: "The woman is perfected / Her dead / Body wears a smile of accomplishment . . ." Nevertheless, it is not fair to reduce "Wonders of a Leaf" into a straightforward meaning or interpretation. This poem is banal, slippery, innocent, paradoxical, and mysterious all at the same time. Sigdel's quest for abstract phenomena like time and reality reaches climax in this poem. Still, one can observe metapoetic elements along with contemplation over nature of reality.



One can easily trace out Sigdel's obsession with reality in his poems. In "Shadow", the poet uses 'shadow' as a yardstick to examine the nature of reality. Is there something essentially real?

Or is it just like the shadow that "becomes shadowless"?

Likewise, "Reality", as the title suggests, reveals the complicated nature of reality, which is never black or white. It lies somewhere within the continuum of two broad ends: black and white. In the same vein, "Gratification" digs out the relativist nature of reality.

The bone without marrow is useless to a human being. To a dog, the same bone becomes one of the most prized delicacies. In

"Colour of the Sun", an innocent child's innocent question (What is the colour of the sun?) shoves the poet into the whirlpool of questions about the way human beings perceive reality. Since the way people perceive reality is as difficult as it is to pinpoint the 8



resničnostjo. Zdi se, da se pesnik izgubi, ko se sooči z objektom svoje umetnosti: z nago junakinjo sredi javnega trga. Strah za rožo popelje to razmišljanje še dlje. Sigdel tu opiše, kaj vse mora prestati roža, da lahko rodi nove rože. Ali si želimo videti tako trpeti umetnika, da bi lahko sprejeli njegovo stvaritev? Seveda si to želimo. Ne nazadnje umetnost prihaja iz hudega trpljenja človekove duše. Zato nas ne preseneča, da se Sigdel v pesmi Čudeži lista sprašuje o samouničevalni naravi umetnosti. Ali romanca lista z gosenico slednji pomaga, da se bo kasneje spremenila v čudovitega metulja? In ali ne bo list uničen v tej romanci? Ali so naše sanje/ljubezni samouničujoče? Ali je umetnost samouničujoča? Tu ne moremo mimo verza Sylvie Plath iz pesmi Rob: »Ženska izpopolnjuje / svojo smrt / telo nosi nasmešek izpopolnitve …« (Sylvia Plath, Zbirka Lirika, prev.

Miha Avanzo, MK, 1992) Vendar pa ni pravično, če pesem Čudeži lista zreduciramo na dobeseden pomen ali razlago. Ta pesem je hkrati vsakdanja, izmuzljiva, nedolžna, paradoksna in skrivnostna. Sigdelovo ukvarjanje z abstraktnimi pojavi, kot sta čas in resničnost, doseže v tej pesmi svoj vrh. Še vedno pa lahko opazimo metapoetične elemente, ki gredo z roko v roki z razmislekom o naravi resničnosti.



V Sigdelovih pesmih lahko z lahkoto zaznamo avtorjevo obsedenost z resničnostjo. V Senci pesnik uporabi senco kot merilo za raziskovanje narave resničnosti. Ali obstaja karkoli, kar je v bistvu resnično? Ali je vse le kot senca, ki »sama preneha metati senco«? Podobno tudi pesem Resničnost, kot nam pove že sam naslov, odkriva kompleksno naravo resničnosti, ki ni nikoli le črna ali bela, ampak leži vzdolž kontinuuma med dvema skrajno oddaljenima koncema: črnim in belim. Podobno tudi pesem Podkupnina prikazuje relativistično naravo resničnosti.

Kost brez mozga je za človeka nekoristna, toda za psa je ta ista kost cenjena poslastica. V Barvi sonca nedolžno vprašanje nedolžnega otroka (»Kakšna barve je sonce?«) pahne pesnika 9



colour of the sun or water for that matter, the poet says to his daughter: "Paint your own sun, dear." The examination of reality takes the form of reflection on time in "A Story of the Time". The narrative of our time is as amorphous as time itself. The question is whether one can really distinguish creator from her creation.

One is reminded of the difficult question Yeats throws in his poem "Among School Children": How can we know the dancer from the dance? In "Change", the poet tries to figure out his own fear of the amorphous and omnipotent time in "a rising vapour in the morning teacup". Here, the poet echoes T. S. Eliot's Prufrock:

"I have measured out my life with coffee spoons". Nowhere does Sigdel capture the banality of human existence in front of the enormity of time the way he does in this poem. However, Sigdel's reflection on reality is not guided by his quest for certainty.

Instead, he is thrilled by its slipperiness and uncertainty. He finds this malleability of reality/time novel. Like a child obsessed with a new colourful toy with many features to explore, Sigdel is obsessed with reality with many shades and shards.



Writing in both the languages, Nepali and English, Sigdel has already carved a niche for himself in the the Nepali literature. As one of Sigdel's friends, I can easily understand his concern towards his country and people. I have seen him spend precious days and nights of his life on teaching and advocating for the rights of Nepali people on margins. He is always outspoken, fearless, honest and outgoing. Against this backdrop, his deep reflection on reality in relation to time, life or art is quite refreshing to me. I wonder whether he meditates over these difficult questions about life and art even when he is teaching in the classroom or chanting slogans in the streets of Kathmandu!





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v vrtinec spraševanj o tem, kako ljudje zaznavamo resničnost.

Ker je način, kako ljudje dojemamo resničnost, prav tako težko določiti kot barvo sonca ali, če hočete, vode, pesnik reče svoji hčerki: »Naslikaj svoje sonce, ljubica!« Raziskovanje resničnosti prevzame obliko premisleka o času v Zgodbi o času. Pripoved o našem času je tako amorfna, kot je čas sam. Vprašanje je, ali sploh lahko razlikujemo med ustvarjalcem in njegovo stvaritvijo.

Naj vas spomnim na težko vprašanje, ki ga navrže Yeats v pesmi Med šolskimi otroki: »Kako naj vemo, kaj plesalec je, kaj ples?«

(W. B. Yeats, zbirka Nobelovci, CZ, 1983, prev. Veno Taufer). V

Spremembi pesnik skuša razumeti lasten strah pred amorfnim in vsemogočnim časom v sopari, »ki se dviga iz jutranje skodelice čaja«. Tukaj odmeva verz iz Eliotovega Prufrocka: »s kavno žličko sem svoje življenje zmeril« (T. S. Eliot, Pesmi, zbirka Kondor, MK, 1982, prev. Veno Taufer). Banalnosti človeškega bivanja na ozadju strahovitega časa Seigdel ne prikaže nikjer tako, kot jo prikaže v tej pesmi. Vendar pa Sigdelov premislek o resničnosti ne vodi želja po gotovosti. Nasprotno, vznemirjata ga nezanesljivost in negotovost. Raztegljivost resničnosti/časa vidi kot nekaj novega. Kot otrok, obseden z novo pisano igračo, ki jo še mora raziskati, je Sigdel obseden z resničnostjo, z njenimi mnogimi sencami in okruški.



Sigdel si je s tem, da piše v obeh jezikih, v nepalščini in angleščini, že izdolbel nišo v nepalski književnosti. Kot Sigdelov prijatelj z lahkoto razumem njegovo skrb za domovino in ljudi.

Videl sem ga, kako je dragocene dni in noči porabil za učenje in zagovarjanje Nepalcev, ki živijo na obrobju. Vedno je odkrit, neustrašen, pošten in prijateljski. Ob tem pa me njegova poglobljena misel o resničnosti in njenem odnosu do časa, življenja in umetnosti osvežuje. Sprašujem se, ali meditira o





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Maybe I am wrong about the poet's persona as an island! Well, Sigdel is not an island, but a swirling tide with its root to the seabed, a place of tranquility.



Bal Bahadur Thapa

Central Department of English

Tribhuvan University

Kathmandu, Nepal



11th November 2016





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težkih vprašanjih o življenju in umetnosti tudi takrat, ko predava študentom ali skandira parole na ulicah Katmanduja. Morda se

motim, ko mislim, da je pesnik otok. Sigdel zagotovo ni otok, ampak razburkano valovje, katerega korenine sežejo vse do morskega dna, kraja spokojnosti.



Bal Bahadur Thapa

Osrednja katedra za angleščino

Tribhuvanska univerza

Katmandu, Nepal



11. novembra 2016





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Poetry and the Heroine


As usual, she

Or the heroine of my poem

Came unhesitantly at the square of the city;

Upon seeing her, all of a sudden

People pretended by lowering their heads

And hesitantly kept seeing

Her nude body.



Thereafter

Other subordinate characters of my poem

Became restless;

Situation turned perversive

And, my poem

Disappeared with the noise of the city

And today too, I could not write a poem.



Only because I need to write a poem

I can’t ask her, the heroine of my poem,

Not to come to the square

Because

I equally love them

Who are encouraged to write poems

Upon seeing her.





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Poezija in junakinja


Kot ponavadi je ona,

junakinja moje pesmi,

odločno prišla na mestni trg;

ko so jo ljudje zagledali, so se

začeli pretvarjati, da sklanjajo glavo,

a so si še vedno obotavljivo ogledovali

njeno nago telo.



Takrat

so stranski liki moje pesmi

postali nemirni;

položaj je postal pohujšljiv

in moja pesem

je izginila v mestnem hrupu

in tudi danes ne bi mogel napisati pesmi.



Samo zato, ker moram napisati pesem,

je ne morem prositi, junakinje moje pesmi,

naj ne hodi na trg,

saj

imam enako rad vse,

ki jih pogled nanjo ohrabri,

da napišejo pesem.





15





Lonely in a Crowd




One day

She got lonely

Amidst a crowd in the city.



Keeping the busy trade centers

In its lap

The city was lonely

For ages.



In a personal pursuit

I entered into the city;

With some prejudices, and

A few other pretensions

I mingled into the hurly-burly of the city.



In the passing of time

I myself

Got lost in the crowd

Then after

With a destiny to know oneself

Each day

I kept walking through

Every nook and corner of the city

The city got lost within itself

And I too abandoned the self searching.



Now,

She lives in solitude

I too live a recluse

Though unaccompanied

We feel a crowd in us.



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Osamljen v množici



Nekega dne

je osamela

sredi mestne množice.



Z živahnimi nakupovalnimi centri

v svojem naročju

je mesto že zdavnaj

osamelo.



Prišel sem v mesto

po osebnih opravkih;

z nekaj predsodki in

z nekaj drugimi zahtevami

sem se pomešal v mestni živžav.



Sčasoma

sem se tudi sam

izgubil v množici

in postalo

mi je usojeno, da sem vsak dan

hodil

in se iskal

po vseh kotih in vogalih mesta.

Mesto se je izgubilo v sebi

in tudi jaz sem opustil iskanje sebe.



Zdaj

živi v osami

in tudi jaz živim v samoti,

in četudi nisva skupaj,

čutiva v sebi množico.



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Fear with the Flower


Flower is a symbol of a faith

And to bloom is a dedication;

The flower blooms, and

Dedicates herself

To everyone!



And then

The wind—

The water—

Shamelessly ravish her.

But, she wouldn’t resist

Or probably she is weak enough to resist

The wind—

The water—

And accepts the gravidity.



And from these flowers

Do we still expect new flowers to be born?

This question is

Yet unanswered.





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Strah za rožo



Roža je simbol vere

in cvetenje je njena posvečenost.

Roža zacveti

in se preda

vsakomur!



In takrat si jo

veter –

voda –

brezsramno vzameta.

Toda ne upre se jima

ali pa je preslabotna, da bi se uprla

vetru –

vodi –

in sprejme nosečnost.



In potem še vedno pričakujemo,

da se bodo iz teh rož rodile nove?

Vprašanje,

ki za zdaj ostaja brez odgovora.





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Shadow


Shadow—

A reality in itself, and

The reflection of a different reality.

The life pillar

Is nothing but a shadow

—It swings

—It squats

And retires of the

Shadow world.

Till then

We nurture illusion

In reflections/counter-reflections.

The dream-dialogue:

Of the real, with the unreal

Consciously/unconsciously.

There,

Shadow is a benchmark of the reality

It is the a benchmark of illusion too;

And the shadow itself becomes shadowless

And intentionally/unintentionally

The distinction disappears

Between the real and the unreal—

The gap vanishes.

The sequential existence

Before the retirement

Therefore—

Might be real

Or, unreal.





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Senca


Senca –

resničnost sama po sebi in

odsev drugačne resničnosti.

Steber življenja

ni nič drugega kot senca

– ziblje se

– leze skupaj

in se umakne

iz sveta senc.

Do takrat

gojimo iluzijo

v odsevih/protiodsevih.

Sanjski pogovor:

o resničnem z neresničnim,

o zavestnem/nezavednem.

Tam

je senca mera za resničnost

in je mera za iluzijo;

in senca sama preneha metati senco

in namerno/nenamerno

izgine razlika

med resničnim in neresničnim –

reža izgine.

Iz tega sledi, da je bivanje

pred umikom

zato –

lahko resnično

ali neresnično.





21





A Story of the Time


The time asked a question—



Who are you



whetting a sword



ahead of the prayer assembly



in the monastery?

This might be a question against the civilization

Or,

The story of time itself.





***



Questions are nothing in themselves

Unless somebody else values them as such

Or deems appropriate to respond to it

They shall otherwise just remain

The grievances of time

Uttered by mistake.

That question

Stayed in the air for a moment.



The question was not merely a question

But like satire against the time itself

Like an effigy prepared to be burnt in the protest rally Like an ironic grinning

Or like a puzzle rather than a question

It remained in the sky

Inviting more new questions.





22



Zgodba o času



Čas je vprašal –

kdo si,

ki brusiš meč

pred začetkom molitvenega zbora

v samostanu?

To bi lahko bilo vprašanje, naperjeno zoper civilizacijo ali

zgodba o času samem.





***



Vprašanja sama po sebi niso nič,

če jih nekdo drug ne oceni kot takšna

ali ne meni, da je nanje primerno odgovoriti.

Drugače naj ostanejo

tožba časa,

pomotoma izrečena.

Vprašanje je za hip

obviselo v zraku.



Vprašanje ni bilo le vprašanje,

ampak satira na čas,

kot slika, pripravljena, da zagori na protestu,

kot ironičen nasmeh

ali kot uganka, po kateri je na nebu

ostalo le vprašanje,

ki zastavlja nova vprašanja.





23





***



Nearby the monastery

A monk whetting the edge of his sword

Raises slowly

As if crushed by a heavy responsibility

And to examine the sharpness of the sword’s edge

Moves the tip of his thumb down towards the base.



As if he was ascertained

He throws his gaze in all directions of the monastery And as if the monastery and he himself

Were both safe

As if the prayer assembly

That was to begin soon in the monastery

Was secured against all the odds

That monk inhales a long breath of satisfaction,

Keeps that whetted sword in the scabbard

And goes to join the prayer assembly.





***



This monk

Is the story of the time we live

And the questioner time

Itself the narrator of that story!





24





***



Blizu samostana

menih brusi rezilo meča,

počasi vstane,

kot bi bil zmečkan pod težko odgovornostjo,

in s konico palca potegne v smeri ročaja,

da bi preveril ostrino rezila.



Kot da bi hotel nekaj dognati,

pogleduje samostan,

in kot da bi bila samostan in on sam

varna,

kot da bi bil molitveni zbor,

ki se bo kmalu začel v samostanu,

zaščiten pred vsemi nevarnostmi,

zadovoljno in globoko vdihne,

spravi meč v nožnico

in odide, da bi se pridružil molitvenemu zboru.





***



Ta menih

je zgodba o času, v katerem živimo,

in spraševalec čas

je pripovedovalec te zgodbe!





25





A Conversation with God




During the prayer

to God

I said,

‘I have nothing to offer

but my dreams.’



God was not assured.



Hundreds of devotees

queue up everyday

at least with a basket of flowers,

a few incense sticks,

and a coin or two.

I saw no reason

why God should be unhappy

with me, and with them all.



To God, I said again,

‘I have nothing to offer

but my faith.’



God showed no sign of assurance.



I was hurt

because God, my last refuge,

abruptly dismantled.



In bewilderment,

silently,

I walked away.





26





Pogovor z Bogom


Med molitvijo


k Bogu

sem rekel:

»Ničesar nimam ponuditi,

razen svojih sanj.«



Bog se ni dal prepričati.



Na stotine vernikov

se zvrsti pred njim vsak dan

vsaj s košaro rož,

z nekaj palčkami kadila,

s kovancem ali dvema,

zato nisem videl razloga,

zakaj bi bil Bog nezadovoljen

z mano ali z njimi.



Spet sem rekel Bogu:

»Ne morem ti ponuditi drugega

kot svojo vero.«



Bog ni dal vedeti, da je prepričan.



Prizadelo me je,

da se je Bog, moje zadnje zatočišče,

nenadoma razblinil v nič.



Zaprepaden

sem tiho

odšel proč.





27



To my surprise,

a few minutes later,

God called me

and said,

‘you become God

and I your devotee;

I want to dream,

to wish,

to pray,

And to hear you answer them all.’



Joy suffused my body,

but a dilemma lurked

behind the euphoria

of unexpected achievement.



To myself,

I mumbled,

“If I become God

there will be none to grant my wishes.”

I found myself alone,

sorrow filled my body again,

and I changed my mind.



To God

finally I said,

‘I don’t want to become God,

I shall always remain a devotee

whose prayers are answered,

not answered.’





28



Na moje presenečenje

me je nekaj minut zatem

poklical

in rekel:

»Bodi ti Bog

in jaz bom tvoj vernik;

želim si sanjati,

želeti,

moliti

in da mi odgovoriš na moje molitve.«



Radost mi je prežela telo,

toda pod vzhičenjem

nad nenadnim dosežkom

je že prežal dvom.



Sam zase

sem zamrmral:

»Če bom postal Bog,

ne bo nikogar, ki bi uslišal moje želje.«

Ponovno sem bil sam,

žalost mi je zalila telo,

premislil sem si.



Končno

sem rekel Bogu:

»Nočem postati Bog,

za vedno naj ostanem vernik,

čigar molitve so uslišane

ali neuslišane.«





29





Identity




12 letters of my name, altogether, I thought,

form my identity.

I meditated upon my name.

My name

ALL IN BLOCK LETTERS

My name

In Small Letters With Initial Capitals

My name

in Times New Roman, Font Size 12

My name

with a Suffix

My name

with a Prefix

My name underwent a series of modulations

and became a farce!



Who am I?

A name!

But even the name

now I meditate upon

had long become a numeric entity.

1/147: the administration verifies the registration,

and confirms my identity;

2492318: the immigration tallies its record,

and verifies my nationality.



My name

refrains from identifying me;

My name

contributes to my vulnerability;

My name

only exhibits my non-existence.

30





Identiteta


12 črk mojega imena, skupaj, sem pomislil,

oblikuje mojo identiteto.

Meditiral sem o svojem imenu.

Moje ime,

NAPISANO Z VELIKIMI ČRKAMI,

moje ime,

napisano z Malimi Črkami in Velikima Začetnicama,

moje ime,

v Times New Roman, velikost pisave 12,

moje ime

s pripono,

moje ime

s predpono,

moje ime je prestalo niz sprememb

in se spremenilo v burko!



Kdo sem?

Ime!

Toda tudi ime,

o katerem sem meditiral,

je že zdavnaj postalo številčna entiteta.

1/147: uprava preveri registracijo

in potrdi mojo identiteto;

2492318: imigracijski urad preveri, ali se ujemam z vpisom in potrdi mojo nacionalnost.



Moje ime

mi preprečuje, da bi se identificiral;

moje ime

prispeva k moji ranljivosti;

moje ime

samo izkazuje moje neobstajanje.

31



This time, I silently chose

to unwrap the cover of my name

only to see my temporary identities

sink into the oblivion.





32



Zato sem se tiho odločil,

da odgrnem tančice svojega imena,

da bi videl, kako moje začasne identitete

tonejo v pozabo.





33





Shadows of War


At the courtyard


blossomed are the flowers—

in pink red and yellow.



The woman wakes up,

and each morning

stretches her eyes till the road ends of her sight

in the hope that her husband

who disappeared some ten years ago

might return.



She waited till she could;

but her husband never returned.

The last drop in her eyes rolled

and fell

unaccounted,

futile.

There was only one more thing she could do—

recollect the memories of the days bygone!



She remembered her husband

And gazed at the flowers he planted

before he left his house in enforcement.

And, in the blooming flowers at the courtyard

She found the vigour for a continued wait.



Sometimes she feared

when the flowers fell in their prime

by the struck of the wind;

But the new buds that appeared

in all their beauty and fragrance



34





Sence vojne


Na dvorišču

cvetijo rože –

rožnate, rdeče in rumene.



Ženska vstane

in se vsako jutro

zazre proti koncu ceste

v upanju, da se bo njen mož,

ki je izginil pred desetimi leti,

vendarle vrnil.



Čakala je, dokler je lahko:

toda njen mož se ni nikoli vrnil.

Zadnja kaplja se ji je skotalila iz oči

in padla,

nerazložljiva,

jalova.

Samo eno stvar je še lahko naredila –

zbrala spomine na minule dni!



Spominjala se je svojega moža

in gledala rože, ki jih je posadil,

preden so ga na silo odvedli iz hiše.

In v cvetočih rožah na dvorišču

je našla moč za nadaljnje čakanje.



Včasih je zadrgetala,

ko so se cvetovi v največjem razcvetu osuli

pod naletom vetra,

toda novi popki, ki so pognali

v vsej svoji lepoti in vonju,



35



reinforced in her the verve

to renew her wait.



After a long cohabitation

suddenly today

she suffocated her relationship with the flowers.

In them, she saw the shadow of malice;

And when the flowers swayed along

The tune of the gentle eastern breeze,

She feared it a death-dance.



An epitome of nilakantha*, flowers gulped the incrimination and honoured the silence.

Without the knowledge of the woman

flowers continued to offer homage

to the dead body of the woman’s husband

buried at the courtyard

of his own house.





* Nilakantha means blue throat. According to a myth, god Shiva in Hindu myth swallowed poison to save people. And the effect of the poision made the throat blue.





36



so okrepili njeno gorečnost,

jo utrdili v čakanju.



Po dolgotrajnem sožitju

je danes

znenada zadušila svoj odnos z rožami.

V njih je zagledala senco zla;

in ko se je cvetje uglašeno zazibalo

v vetju nežnega vzhodnika,

se je prestrašila, da je to mrtvaški ples.



Kot simbol za nilakantho* so rože popile obtožbe in se poklonile tišini.

Ne da bi ženska to vedela,

so rože še naprej izkazovale čast

mrtvemu telesu njenega moža,

pokopanemu na dvorišču

njegove lastne hiše.





* Nilakantha pomeni modro grlo. Po hindujski mitologiji je bog Šiva pogoltnil strup, da bi rešil ljudi. Posledica strupa je bila, da se je njegovo grlo obarvalo modro.





37





Change


The sun goes red


and slowly sinks in the West.

I sigh an extended breath

after a long-day suffocation of my own volition.

I choose to rebuke Time for its stagnancy,

The Time, but, embraces me in its engulfing spiral.

I gauge it from the pages in history:

The whirlwinds are but the sighs of the sinking sun––

A bright flash of the dying light!



After so much a wait

the pages read the same Darkness––

My truth, my reality.

And these days I fear the Broad Day Light.

Scary mornings come with another whirlwind,

It rages and rocks,

It shakes the foundation.

Aah!

But it all is a rising vapour

in the morning tea cup.





38





Sprememba


Sonce postane rdeče

in počasi utone na Zahodu.

Globoko vdihnem

po dolgem dnevu, polnem tesnobe, ki sem si jo sam pridelal.

Okaral sem Čas zaradi njegove lenobnosti,

toda Čas me objame in me brez preostanka pahne v svojo spiralo.

Prebiram ga na straneh zgodovine:

viharji so samo vzdihljaji tonečega sonca –

svetli bliski umirajoče luči!



Po neskončnem čakanju

so strani popisane z isto Temo –

z mojo resnico, z mojo resničnostjo.

In te dni me je strah jasne dnevne svetlobe.

Strašljiva jutra pridejo z novim viharjem,

ki besni in maje,

stresa temelje.

Aah!

Toda vse je sopara,

ki se dviga iz jutranje skodelice čaja.





39





The Chess Game


The first move–

a white pawn takes a double leap.

Second,

the black horse jumps in L.

Moves and counter moves,

the game continues.



The dice that are on the move

have no intentions.

And those with intentions

do not speak their mind.



How long can a game continue?

It has to end.

One wins,

or it can end in a draw.

“Double check!”

Finally, someone speaks cautiously.



But it’s just a game,

and, you can play it again.



This time too,

I’m back on the chess board

re-arranged,

for the next game:

A mere dice in flesh and blood!





40



Partija šaha



Prva poteza –

kmet se premakne za dve polji.

Druga,

črni konj skoči v L.

Poteze in protipoteze,

igra se nadaljuje.



Figure, ki se premikajo,

nimajo nobenih namenov.

In tiste, ki jih imajo,

o njih molčijo.



Koliko časa se lahko igra nadaljuje?

Mora se končati.

Nekdo zmaga

ali pa se igra konča z remijem.

»Dvojni šah!«

končno nekdo previdno reče.



Toda saj je samo igra

in lahko jo še enkrat zaigraš.



Tudi tokrat

se vrnem k šahovski deski,

pripravljeni

za naslednjo partijo:

tudi sam figura iz mesa in krvi!





41





Metamorphosis


I




A group of artists

have arrived into this city–

an Unreal City.



For ages

we had dreamt of a Real City.

And now

these artists have promised it for us.



II



In the Unreal City

the sun and the moon,

the sky and the earth,

the humans and the birds,

the trees and the turfs,

all exist

without our knowing they exist.



Because we lived in an Unreal City

we never bothered to know that they ever existed.



III



We have our big dreams,

and these artists have a big responsibility!

They’ve promised–

a new sun,

a new moon,



42





Metamorfoza


I




Skupina umetnikov

je prispela v mesto –

v Neresnično mesto.



Že od nekdaj

sanjamo o Resničnem mestu.

In umetniki so nam ga

obljubili.



II



V Neresničnem mestu

sonce in luna,

nebo in zemlja,

ljudje in ptice,

drevje in trate

obstajajo,

ne da bi mi vedeli zanje.



Zato ker živimo v Neresničnem mestu,

nas ni nikoli zanimalo, ali so sploh kdaj obstajali.



III



Imamo velike sanje

in umetniki imajo veliko odgovornost.

Obljubili so nam –

novo sonce,

novo luno



43



and of course, a new land.

A perfect city!



IV



We are now in the becoming of a Real City.

And the artists are busy undoing the scaffoldings of the Unreal City.

They are experimenting with colours;

They are experimenting with words and the musical notes.

So, things are in mess.

Confusion prevails,

and we sometimes unwisely doubt things.

But they explain it for us–

it's a transition!

They want to reassure us.

Poor creatures!

We do everything to prove that we’re reassured.

We are told

Our questioning disrupts the transformation of our place into a Real City.

So, we silently choose to accept our own defacement–

Witness our own metamorphosis!





44



in seveda novo deželo.

Popolno mesto!



IV



Zdaj mesto postaja Resnično mesto!

In umetniki so zaposleni z razstavljanjem zidarskih odrov Neresničnega mesta.

Eksperimentirajo z barvami;

eksperimentirajo z besedami in glasbenimi notami.

Zato je vse v neredu.

Prevladuje zmešnjava

in včasih nespametno podvomimo v stvari.

Toda razložijo nam –

to je tranzicija.

Hočejo nas pomiriti.

Uboga bitja!

Naredimo vse, da bi delovali pomirjeno.

Rekli so nam,

da bomo s spraševanjem zmotili spreminjanje našega kraja v Resnično mesto.

Zato tiho sprejmemo lastno popačenje –

priče svoje lastne metamorfoze!





45





Uninvestigated


That’s the morgue of the hospital

and, he lies dead there.

Adjacent to the Morgue is a Maternity Ward—

the place where he was born

some fifty-two years ago.



Earlier, the doctors cut his mother dead

to bring him into life

through a successful caesarean.

Now, they are carefully dissecting his body

for a successful post-mortem

to tell the reason he died.



Even after the successful caesarean and the post-mortem, His medical reports never tell

Was his life successful?

Or, is his death meaningful?





46





Neraziskano


To je bolnišnična mrtvašnica

in on leži v njej, mrtev.

Zraven je porodniški oddelek,

kraj, kjer se je rodil pred

približno dvainpetdesetimi leti.



Pred tem so zdravniki neuspešno operirali njegovo mamo, umrla je, on pa se je rodil

z uspešno izvedenim carskim rezom.

Zdaj skrbno secirajo njegovo telo,

da bi z uspelo avtopsijo

izvedeli, zakaj je umrl.



Toda niti po uspelem carskem rezu niti po uspeli avtopsiji zdravniška poročila ne povejo:

Je bilo njegovo življenje uspešno?

Je bila njegova smrt smiselna?





47





Reward




Twenty years ago

in her prime

she began her career

typing the decree of her boss.

In between

she has typed

a bulk of appointments

numbers of transfers

and, scores of promotions.

Every stroke on the type-machine,

she never realized,

was the counting of her own days.

By now

she has served enough

and today,

someone else is typing for her

a retirement letter.





48





Nagrada




Pred dvajsetimi leti,

na vrhuncu moči,

je začela kariero

kot tipkarica odlokov svojega šefa.

Do zdaj

je natipkala

množico sestankov,

številna nakazila

in obilico napredovanj.

Z vsakim udarcem na pisalni stroj

je štela svoje dni,

ne da bi se tega zavedala.

Dovolj

dolgo je služila

in danes

nekdo drug tipka zanjo

pismo o upokojitvi.





49





Gratification




That piece of bone

which the dog is recklessly sucking

is the one I threw

after sucking the marrow inside it.



Now,

when I see the dog

sucking it with immense satisfaction,

I envy the pleasure the dog receives

even sucking the bone without the marrow.



Poor dog!

Instead of abandoning the bone

It wags its tail to me still today

in gratification.





50





Podkupnina


Kost,

ki jo pes brezbrižno sesa,

je kost, ki sem jo odvrgel,

potem ko sem iz nje izsesal mozeg.



Zdaj,

ko vidim, s kakšnim

zadovoljstvom jo sesa,

mu zavidam užitek, ki ga ima

celo ob sesanju kosti brez mozga.



Ubogi pes!

Namesto da bi jo pustil vnemar,

mi še danes iz hvaležnosti

maha z repom.





51





Reality


Here they came


On a mission

In search of a ‘right’ man.

I proposed to them the tallest of men;

Very moment, they shrunk down to Liliputs themselves, And, out of fear, they outright rejected the Guliver.

Then I proposed them the shortest of men,

This time, they themselves swelled as big as the Guliver Out of scorn, they again rejected this poor Liliput.

Finally, I asked them who they really wanted:

“Tallest of the dwarfs,” they humbly answered.





52



Resničnost



Prišli so

z nalogo,

da poiščejo »pravega« človeka.

Predlagal sem jim najvišjega izmed ljudi;

v istem hipu so se skrčili na velikost liliputancev

in prestrašeni brez premisleka zavrnili Guliverja.

Potem sem jim predlagal najnižjega od ljudi,

tokrat so sami zrasli do velikosti Guliverja

in zaničljivo zavrnili ubogega liliputanca.

Na koncu sem jih vprašal, koga so pravzaprav želeli.

»Najvišjega od pritlikavcev,« so ponižno odgovorili.





53





Will Power




“In new Nepal,”

they said,

“Everything will change:

The economy will change

and, society will change.”

Optimistic and enthusiastic

I asked them –

“Will you also change?”

In confusion

they looked at each other

and, one of them said –

“We haven’t decided this yet.”





54



Volja do moči



»V novem Nepalu,«

so rekli,

»se bo vse spremenilo:

ekonomija se bo spremenila

in družba se bo spremenila.«

Optimističen in navdušen

sem jih vprašal –

»Se boste spremenili tudi vi?«

Zmedeno

so se spogledali

in eden od njih je rekel:

»O tem pa še nismo odločali.«





55





To Myself


That election


I voted with my own will.

This election

I am not sure

because

everybody speaks with threat

to vote for “the people”.





56





Samemu sebi


Na prejšnjih volitvah

sem glasoval po lastni volji.

Za te volitve

nisem prepričan,

saj

vsi grozeče govorijo,

da bodo volili »za ljudi«.





57





At the Teashop




At the teashop

They come every morning

For yet another cup of tea

After rounds of tea at their homes or elsewhere.

There is nothing special here:

Yes, Mithila vaujau* still remembers the etiquette of a business—

She’ll smile indiscriminately

To anyone

Who comes at her teashop

Except those days

When a customer picks up a paper

At the teashop

And recounts the news

Of the scarcity of LP gas,

Or increase in sugar price.



They come and talk their business,

Their new boss in the office,

Or the communist party in the government.

She has nothing to do with those talks

But she still loves them

Because she practices the business etiquette

To love things

That bring profit to her.





* Vaujau in Nepali means wife of a brother.





58



V čajnici



Ob jutrih

prihajajo v čajnico

na še eno skodelico čaja

po skodelicah, ki so jih popili doma ali drugje.

Tu ni nič posebnega:

Ja, vaujau* Mithila se še vedno spomni poslovnega bontona –

brez razlike se bo nasmehnila

vsakomur,

ki bo vstopil v njeno čajnico,

razen tiste dni,

ko stranka vzame v čajnici

časopis

in glasno obnavlja novice

o pomanjkanju plina za gospodinjstva

ali o dvigu cene sladkorja.



Prihajajo in se menijo o svojih poslih,

o novem šefu v pisarni

ali o komunistični stranki v vladi.

Nobene zveze nima s temi pogovori,

vseeno pa jih ima rada,

saj se vadi v poslovnem bontonu,

da ima rada stvari,

ki ji prinašajo dobiček.





* Vaujau v nepalščini pomeni svakinja.





59





Opportunity




Gun fired.

‘Mr. K_ is dead!’

Somebody announced it in the crowd.

Everybody looked at me

with no pause

no shock

no sympathy

but as if I were an opportunity for them.

The hurling speeches,

The claims

And, counter claims –

They were tense.

Minutes later, there appeared a group

with bamboo sticks and funeral clothes.

They made me lie down,

Wrapped me with red flags

And declared me

“A martyr!”

Then,

I was under protection.

Young robust bodies guarded me.

I was surprised.

The whole life

When I lived in insecurity and fear

Nobody bothered for my protection.

Thank you dear shooter,

You brought me to peace,

and special protection!

Throughout my life

I was a nobody

disgraced and humiliated.



60



Priložnost



Puška je ustrelila.

»Gospod K. je mrtev!«

je oznanil nekdo v množici.

Vsi so se zagledali vame,

strmo,

neprizadeto,

brez sočutja,

kot bi bil za njih nekakšna priložnost.

Vročične debate,

zahteve

in protizahteve –

bili so napeti.

Nekaj minut zatem se je pojavila skupina

s palicami iz bambusa in pogrebnimi oblačili.

Položili so me na tla,

me zavili v rdeče zastave

in me proglasili za

mučenika!

Potem

sem dobil zaščito.

Stražila so me mlada robustna telesa.

Bil sem presenečen.

Vse življenje

sem preživel v negotovosti in strahu

in nikogar ni zanimala moja varnost.

Zato hvala ti, dragi strelec,

prinesel si mi mir

in me postavil pod posebno zaščito!

Vse življenje

sem bil nihče,

osramočen in ponižan.



61



Now,

a hero declared Martyr –

awarded millions from government funds

Free to consume both praise and prize.





62



Zdaj

sem heroj, proglašen za mučenika –

za katerega gredo milijoni iz državne blagajne,

svoboden, da poberem slavo in denar.





63





Wonders of a Leaf


Lying in bed


I dream of a caterpillar.



The caterpillar stops a while,

Dreams of a leaf

and resumes!

I lie, while

the caterpillar soothes me,

crawls upon me

and excites me with its

innumerable hands and feet.



Belly upon the belly,

caterpillar and me –

intoxicated,

we live a complete dream.

The caterpillar –

touches me,

gets aroused,

squeezes and sucks me,

and, transforms itself into a butterfly.



I, too, dream,

get excited with the touch,

and offer myself to be eaten up;

But, left with a mystic of life

I dream and wonder:

if the butterfly is my love,

my ultimate dream.





64



Čudeži lista



Ležim v postelji

in sanjam o gosenici.



Gosenica za hip obstane,

sanja o listu

in gre naprej!

Ležim, medtem

ko me gosenica pomirja,

ko leze po meni

in me draži s svojimi

neštetimi rokami in nogami.



S trebuhom ob trebuhu,

gosenica in jaz –

omamljena,

živiva popolne sanje.

Gosenica –

dotakne se me,

se vzburi,

me stiska in sesa

in se preobrazi v metulja.



Tudi mene, sanjajočega,

vznemiri dotik

in ponudim se, da bi bil pojeden.

Toda prepuščen skrivnosti življenja,

sanjam in se sprašujem:

je metulj moja ljubezen,

moja najvišja sanja.





65





Colour of the Sun


My daughter is busy colouring her thoughts

The fingers restlessly

Move across the drawings

On the card board paper.



“What is the colour of the sun?” she fumbles–

Yellow, orange, or crimson red–

Who knows it? The colour of the sun?

She takes a colouring pencil, and before she fills in The colour, she tries to sharpen the tip of the pencil; The tip breaks again and again...

And it only sharpens her nerves.



Irritated, confused,

She raises her head, and slowly, turns it a little right, And gives a puzzled look at me,

Her eyes are enough to tell what she feels

About me; But I have never coloured

A sun, you know! I have never felt it closely

To know its colours. At times,

I have hated the irresistible heat, or

Its absence too. But colours?

Does the sun have a colour at all?

With my little daughter, the sun smiles, and how

Do I tell what colour is the smile?



It’s raining heavily outside, and inside

My conscience erodes to create a grim, bleak lake

That receives the reflection of the sun.





66





Barva sonca


Mojo hčerko zaposluje barvanje svojih misli,

prsti ji brez počitka

drsijo prek risb

na risalnem listu.



»Kakšne barve je sonce?« ugiba –

rumene, oranžne, škrlatno rdeče –

Kdo jo pozna? Barvo sonca?

Vzame barvni svinčnik, in preden zapolni

sonce z barvo, ga poskusi ošiliti;

konica se vedno znova zlomi

in zato ji uspe ošiliti le svoje živce.



Razdražena, zmedena

dvigne glavo, jo počasi zasuka v desno

in me zbegano pogleda,

že z očmi mi pove, kaj čuti

do mene; toda veste, jaz nisem nikoli

barval sonca! Nikoli se mu nisem čutil tako blizu,

da bi spoznal njegove barve. Včasih

sem sovražil nevzdržno vročino ali

njeno odsotnost. Toda barve?

Ali sonce sploh ima kakšno barvo?

Moja hčerka se smehlja kot sonce in kako

naj vem, kakšne barve je nasmeh?



Zunaj močno dežuje in notri

me grize vest in izgrize čemerno, mrzlo jezero,

v katerem odseva sonce.





67



What colour is the sun in the lake?

The colour of my mind, probably.



To my daughter, I just said—

Paint your own sun, dear!





68



Kakšne barve je sonce v jezeru?

Najbrž barve mojega duha.



Hčerki sem rekel samo –

naslikaj svoje sonce, ljubica!





69





The Missing Sun


In her youthful fancy


she plucked the sun from the sky.



Filled in with immense passion

for this young morning sun,

she held it tight to her bosom

and felt its warmth skin to skin.



How long one can surrender?

The sun had its promise to the sky

To come back soon!



But unwilling to share the sun

with anyone else,

she wrapped the sun carefully

with her soft red shawl

and quietly hid it

in a corner of her own memory-shelf.



And now,

the sun no more shines in the sky

to show the world

how happy she is!





70



Pogrešano sonce



V mladostnem navdušenju

je utrgala sonce z neba.



Napolnjena z neizmerno strastjo

do jutranjega sonca,

ga je tesno privila k prsim

in na koži začutila toplino njegove kože.



Kako dolgo se ji lahko predaja?

Sonce je vendar obljubilo nebu,

da se bo kmalu vrnilo nanj!



Ampak ona noče deliti sonca

z nikomer,

skrbno ga je zavila

v mehek rdeč šal

in ga tiho skrila

v najtemnejši kot svojega spomina.



In zdaj

sonce ne sije več na nebu,

da bi svetu pokazalo,

kako srečna je.





Prevedla Katja Kuštrin





71





Embargo




My daughter is learning numbers.

She is learning the names of the months and days.

She wants to do things on her own—

Like her father, like her mother.

And we keep saying,

“Not now dear, you are too small for it.”



Now she has a wish— a wish to grow

And not to be a child anymore;

Because she wants to do things on her own,

Like her father, like her mother.

And, on her third birthday, she tells me:

‘Baba, when I will no more be a child?’

To her, this asking is important.

It’s about a sense of freedom,

A sense of the self.



Becoming a teenager would mark her first transition.

For me, it is just counting of a few more years.

I add ten more years to her present age.

My daughter will be excitedly counting these more years For they mean ten more birthday cakes,

And ten more birthday gifts,

Before she finally arrives at it.



Oh, this transition is scary.

She will be thirteen.

She will be assertive.

She will try to live on her own—

No more like her father, no more like her mother,

Different from what she aspired for.



72





Prepoved


Moja hčerka se uči številk.

Uči se imen mesecev in dni.

Rada bi počela stvari po svoje –

tako kot njen oče, tako kot njena mama.

In midva ji venomer govoriva:

»Še ne, ljubica, premajhna si za to.«



Zdaj si želi, da bi odrasla

in da ne bi bila več otrok.

Ker si želi početi stvari po svoje –

tako kot njen oče, tako kot njena mama.

In na svoj tretji rojstni dan me vpraša:

»Očka, kdaj ne bom več otrok?«

Zanjo je to pomembno vprašanje.

Gre za občutek svobode,

občutek same sebe.



Najstništvo bo zaznamovalo njen prvi prehod.

Zame je to samo stvar nekaj let.

Njenim letom jih dodam še deset.

Moja hčerka pa jih bo vznemirjeno štela,

saj pomenijo deset rojstnodnevnih tort več

in deset rojstnodnevnih daril več,

preden bo prišla do tja.



Oh, ta prehod je strašljiv.

Imela jih bo trinajst.

Odločna bo.

Hotela bo živeti po svoje –

nič več kot njen oče, nič več kot njena mama,

drugače kot si je želela.



73



And now, we fear the number.

We fear the possible assertion

Of her breaking away from us.

And with this fear,

We declare the number an embargo—

Ominous and Tabooed!





74



In zdaj se bojiva številke.

Bojiva se njene morebitne odločnosti,

ki jo bo pahnila od naju.

In zaradi tega strahu sva razglasila

prepoved nad številko –

zloveščo in tabuizirano!





75





Zeal




What’s your age?

she asked.

Do not believe the grey hairs,

I humbly replied.





76



Gorečnost



Koliko si star?

je vprašala.

Ne verjemi sivim lasem,

sem ji ponižno odgovoril.





77





Of My Poetry Class


Today, as every previous-year’s day,

I’ll meet a new batch of students

In my poetry class.

May be I‘ll talk to them on Chaucer

On how he democratically portrayed his characters

Or, may be as always,

Romanticize Ginsberg as a Hippi-hero

And elaborate his experiments with sex and drugs;

Or, I may be overtaken by the personal life of Yeats

By failures of his love life

More than the philosophical visions in his poems.



They’ll have expectations

And may end in impressions,

I’ll also have expectations

But I’ll need to continue on those impressions,

The way I’ve been doing these many years.



In the classroom

They’ll be my students

Or, I will be their teacher, by reciprocation.

Very consciously, we’ll build and maintain the distance Of our being—as a teacher, as students.

Each day, we’ll interact with each other

Through faces-- foamy smiles this time, and frowns at other times.

In the turn of the year, before my poetry classes end These new faces will soon be registered as ‘gold-old batch’

And I’ll be left to expect new faces again.





78



O mojem pesniškem razredu



Danes, tako kot na isti dan lansko leto,

bom srečal množico novih študentov

pri svojem predavanju o poeziji.

Morda jim bom govoril o Chaucerju,

kako demokratično je upodobil svoje like,

ali pa bom, kot vedno,

romantiziral Ginsberga kot hipijevskega heroja

in razdelal njegove poskuse s seksom in drogami;

ali pa me bo Yeatsovo zasebno življenje

z njegovimi ljubezenskimi neuspehi prevzelo

bolj kot filozofska videnja v njegovih pesmih.



Prišli bodo s pričakovanji,

ki se lahko končajo z vtisi,

in tudi sam bom imel pričakovanja,

a bom moral graditi na teh vtisih,

tako kot to počnem že leta.



V razredu

bodo oni moji študentje

in obratno, jaz bom njihov učitelj.

Zelo vestno bomo gradili in vzdrževali razdaljo

med nami – kot učitelj, kot učenci.

Vsak dan bomo stopali v odnose –

zdaj bodo na obrazih vljudni nasmeški, zdaj bodo namrgodeni.

Ob koncu leta, preden se predavanja končajo,

bodo novi obrazi prepoznani kot »dobra stara družba«

in zapuščen bom pričakoval nove obraze.





79



At this moment of thought, as always,

I am drawn back to the same question:

With these fleets of fancy-fiery faces,

(As a new teacher to these new students),

Am I simply rehearsing to keep time away?





80



V tem trenutku se v mislih, kot vedno,

vrnem k istemu vprašanju:

ali s flotami žarečih obrazov

(kot novi učitelj novim študentom)

preprosto vadim upočasnitev časa?





81





Buffis*


There at the Dadabab camp in Somalia

Or the Sanischare camp in Jhapa

They are waiting for an opportunity

For a third country resettlement;

There is impatience, anxiety, and above all,

A desperate wait!



Friends are gone, neighbours are gone

There is news on the print about their new changed life And, in a rare telephone conversation

An acquaintance recounts her Boeing experience;

It makes the wait more worthwhile,

But the anxiety accelerates.



My friend at the University is waiting for a visa interview His colleagues are gone, even juniors are gone

There are posts on the social sites about their new changed status And, in brief online chats,

They sympathize him for still being stuck in the old torn place; It makes him more restless

And the anxiety accelerates.



Only yesterday Roshani said, “Dai, finally I’m going.”

“Where?” I asked her.

She only smiled in reply.

It was a shame that I didn’t know my own dream.





82





Buffis*


V taborišču Dadabab v Somaliji

ali v taborišču Sanichare v Jhapi

čakajo na možnost,

da bi se nastanili v tretji državi:

tam so nepotrpežljivost, tesnoba in predvsem

obupano čakanje!



Prijatelji so odšli, odšli so sosedje,

časopisi prinašajo novice o njihovem spremenjenem življenju in v osamljenem telefonskem pogovoru

znanka poroča o svoji izkušnji z boeingom,

to naredi čakanje vrednejše,

a tesnoba narašča.



Moj prijatelj z univerze čaka na pogovor za vizo.

Njegovi kolegi so odšli, celo gimnazijci so odšli,

na družabnih omrežjih so objave o njihovem novem

spremenjenem statusu

in v kratkih pogovorih prek spleta

sočustvujejo z njim, ki še vedno tiči v žalostnem starem kraju; to ga dela nemirnega

in tesnoba narašča.



Šele včeraj je Roshani rekla: »Dai, končno grem.«

»Kam?« sem jo vprašal.

Nasmehnila se mi je v odgovor.

Postalo me je sram, da ne poznam svojih sanj.





83



At the camp, in the University, and at our homes,

We live with a buffis

A hope and an anxiety

Of hunting the impalas**, our dreams!





* Buffis is an African/Somalian term that means anxiety that we have when we are waiting for some good thing to happen.

** Impalas are rare species of antelope found in Uganda, especially the Kampala region. It is believed that the city Kampala received its name as such to mean the ‘hill of impalas’.





84



V taborišču, na univerzi, po naših domovih,

živimo z buffisom,

upanjem in tesnobo,

da bomo ujeli impale**, naše sanje!





* Buffis je afriški/somalski izraz, ki označuje tesnobo, ki jo čutimo, ko čakamo, da se bo zgodilo nekaj dobrega.

** Impala je redka vrsta antilope v Ugandi, še posebej v regiji okoli Kampale. Obstaja prepričanje, da je Kampala poimenovana prav po impalah in da pomeni ‘grič impal’.





85





About the Author




Keshab Sigdel (born 1979) is a Nepali poet, academic, translator and editor. Sigdel's published works include Samaya Bighatan (2007), a collection of poems in Nepali, and Six Strings (2011), a co-authored joint anthology of poems in English. Sigdel's poems are published in literary journals like Grey Sparrow (USA), Snow Jewel (USA), Syndic Literary Journal (USA), Sijo Saing'hwal (South Korea), Naya Gyanodaya (India), The Art of Being Human (Canada), Kabita Bangla (Bangladesh), Kampala Poetry Anthology (Uganda), Of Nepalese Clay (Nepal), Kalashree (Nepal) along with translations in English, Hindi, Urdu, Tamil, Thai, Kannada, Sambalpuri, Bengali, Japanese, and South Korean.



Sigdel is the editor of two journals Rupantaran (publication of Translation Department, Nepal Academy, the apex body of Literature and Arts in Nepal) and Of Nepalese Clay (literary magazine of the Society of Nepali Writers in English).



His poems and plays are taught in school and University courses in Nepal. He is also the recipient of two literary awards

‘Bhanubhakta Swarna Padak’ (2014) and ‘Kalashree Srijana Puraskar’ (2015).



Keshab Sigdel works as an Assistant Professor in English at the Central Department of English, Tribhuvan University,

Kathmandu, Nepal.





86





O avtorju


Keshab Sigdel (r. 1979) je nepalski pesnik, akademik, prevajalec in urednik. Objavil je pesniško zbirko v nepalščini Samaya Bighatan (2007) in je soavtor antologije, napisane v angleščini, Six Strings (2011). Pesmi objavlja v literarnih revijah po vsem svetu, med drugim so izšle v literarnih revijah Grey Sparrow (ZDA), Snow Jewel (ZDA), Syndic Literary Journal (ZDA), Sijo Saing'hwal (Južna Koreja), Naya Gyanodaya (Indija), The Art of Being Human (Kanada), Kabita Bangla (Bangladeš), Kampala Poetry Anthology (Uganda), Of Nepalese Clay (Nepal), Kalashree (Nepal) in so prevedene v angleščino, hindi, urdu, tamilščino, tajščino, kannada, sambalpuri, bengalščino, japonščino in korejščino.



Sigdel je urednik revij Rupantaran (publikacije prevajalskega oddelka nepalske akdemije, ki je najvišje telo za literaturo in umetnost v Nepalu) in revije Of Nepalese Clay (literarne revije Društva nepalskih pisateljev, pišočih v angleščini).



Njegove pesmi in drame so vključene v nepalski šolski in univerzitetni program. Za svoje delo je prejel literarni nagradi

»Bhanubhakta Swarna Padak« (2014) in »Kalashree Srijana Puraskar« (2015).



Keshab Sigdel dela kot izredni profesor angleščine na osrednji katedri za angleščino na Univerzi Tribhuvan v Katmanduju v Nepalu.





87



Kazalo / Contents



From a Tide to Tranquility: A Glance at Sigdel's Poems 4

Od razburkanosti do spokojnosti: bežen vpogled v pesmi Keshaba Sigdela





5



Poetry and the Heroine





14

Poezija in junakinja





15



Lonely in a Crowd





16

Osamljen v množici





17



Fear with the Flower





18

Strah za rožo





19



Shadow





20

Senca





21



A Story of the Time





22

Zgodba o času





23



A Conversation with God





26

Pogovor z Bogom





27



Identity





30

Identiteta





31



Shadows of War





34

Sence vojne





35



Change





38

Sprememba





39





88



The Chess Game





40

Partija šaha





41



Metamorphosis





42

Metamorfoza





43



Uninvestigated





46

Neraziskano





47



Reward





48

Nagrada





49



Gratification





50

Podkupnina





51



Reality





52

Resničnost





53



Will Power





54

Volja do moči





55



To Myself





56

Samemu sebi





57



At the Teashop





58

V čajnici





59



Opportunity





60

Priložnost





61



Wonders of a Leaf





64

Čudeži lista





65





89



Colour of the Sun





66

Barva sonca





67



The Missing Sun





70

Pogrešano sonce





71



Embargo





72

Prepoved





73



Zeal





76

Gorečnost





77



Of My Poetry Class





78

O mojem pesniškem razredu





79



Buffis





82

Buffis





83



About the Author





86

O avtorju





87





BARVE SONCA / COLOURS OF THE SUN





Keshab Sigdel


Prevedla: Vera Pejovič in Peter Semolič

Spremna beseda: Bal Bahadur Thapa

Urednik: Peter Semolič

Jezikovni pregled: Petra Koršič

Fotografija na naslovnici in oblikovanje naslovnice: Katja Kuštrin Izdajatelj: Kulturno-umetniško društvo Poiesis, Trebinjska 8, 1000

Ljubljana, www.poiesis.si



Ljubljana, januar 2017

90