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Papia Ghoshal

POETRY2














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PAPIA GHOSHAL'S
 
PUBLISHED BOOKS OF POEMS:

DAYS OF MENSTRUATION: 
 
Published by Jogamaya Prakashani & Charu Press, in January, 2003, Kolkata 
(At Kolkata International Book Fair)

translated into English by Christopher Arkell
& Ales Lang and Jan Strup in  Czech



TEXTUATION: published by 'Nandimukh' in December 2007, Kolkata 

(sms dialogue between poets Papia Ghoshal and Christopher Arkell)
 
SECOND SIGHT - published by Saishab Prakashan, at Bangla Academy, Kolkata - 2009






few lines below FROM ''DAYS OF MENSTRUATION'' ( ritur dingulo)




























paintings010.jpg
MEDITATION- PAPIA GHOSHAL

LET ME LIVE

 

I don’t understand what it means to ponder,

I don’t understand the meaning of life,

I don’t even know the meaning of living;

I don’t understand the meaning of death

I don’t understand what it means to grieve

I don’t understand what is love, faith, wisdom, piety –

O mankind, let me live.

 

 

POISON

 

All the abasements she packed tight in her trunk

And she tied up the trunk with eye-water.

 

Then she journeys her road alone;

Then she bears her one bright corpse;

Then, unwished for, there’s almost an error;

Then the wish to err.

 

On a sea brimful of errors she floated the trunk.

THE ANKLE-BELL

 

bells.

 

 

COLOURS

 

Our neighbourhood girls will show their nests

Made from the white ties of petticoats;

Orange orgasms and the menopause

Bleed into foot-bands of yellow and black.

 

Clothes rails shed scarlet bras

Onto the neighbourhood’s blue alleys and out into its streets.

 

Colours drain down every last body.

 

Little by little the girls in the alleys

Shade off  into black..

 

Hunger

 

Birds peck and peck at their feathers;

Then comes a time when, swallowed by hunger,

They peck to devour each other.

All the while two magpies are mating;

All the while the local girls press

Two fingers to their lips, saying

Two fer joy, two fer joy.”

WAR

 

Man of rust

With rusted sword in hand,

With whom are you at war?

 

Day and night you’re at the mirror,

Suited in false armour –

Who is your rival?

 

Inside these four walls

One darkness follows you;

Still you are en garde

For another opponent

 




































PAST

 

He’ll be back one day,

The way the past comes back

To its floozie.

 

He’s forgotten that his floozie’s long since

Been lost in other men.

 

 

 

 

THE ANKLE-BELL

 

One bell quits the ankle bells.

 

It rings alone in the streets.

 

 

There is no other music

Aside from the noise of traffic.

 

You’ve all been deaf a long time;

Aren’t you still deaf?

 

 

 

 

 

BLIND GEOMETRY

 

The spent blue hue drips down the canvas

The brush is falling asleep

 

One dark arithmetic paves the way

 

The blind geometry rules

 

Awake only, the planet that’s next to grammar;

And the text books are silent

 

Transition

 

 

Michael looks through the camera sights

                                                towards twilight;

One or two stars emerge from his flesh

As he spreads out, like a girl, his long hair:

He is trying to hide his male flesh.

 

The language of twilight seeps from his flesh

                                                to my flesh:

There’s mutation of birth, person, name.

 

From his male flesh, Michael mines for the hidden breasts, vagina,

                                                            all female desires.

 

In the black coffee dark he touches me and says,

“From now on I’m Victoria, I don’t know anyone called Michael.”

 

I gaze through the camera at the soft flesh;

I observe fear circling over Victoria,

Assailed by the cheap jokes of men, their fun, their gags.

 

Michael returns with the light of day;

In his eyewater, there floats Victoria’s raped flesh.

COLOURS

 

Our neighbourhood girls will show their nests

Made from the white ties of petticoats;

Orange orgasms and the menopause

Bleed into foot-bands of yellow and black.

 Clothes rails shed scarlet bras

Onto the neighbourhood’s blue alleys and out into its streets.

 

Colours drain down every last body.

 

Little by little the girls in the alleys

Shade off into black.

 

The cracked mirror

 

 

The cracked mirror talks only about striving.

 

Your face striving

Your breasts striving

Your stomach striving

Your vagina striving

Your eyes striving

Your eye-water striving

Your heart striving

 

By standing in front of the mirror, your days of menstruation slip away.




























 

 

 

LoveOVE

 

As if we are hacking a path through the darkness,

As if we’re engrossed afterall this while by the moon’s refulgence,

So long have I borne on my back my corpse

As if I will listen once more

To the ear-market struggle between grave and allegro,

As if after all this while one comes and says

Unknot your hem and run to me.