Prabuddha VIII

This is the eighth part of the translation of Mahagama Sekera's epic poem 'Prabuddha', an exercise that has the permission and blessings of the immediate family of Mahagama Sekera. Parts I, II, III, IV, V, VI and VII were published in www.malindapoetry.blogspot.com.
 

From that moment

he was one of them
from that moment
he too danced with them
in tune and in step
in perfect harmony.

It was the festival of intoxication:

floating in alcoholic stupor
lost in lust
high on power greed
high on money need.

And the lecherous eye

cast its inevitable glance
not on his incomparable voice
but its profit potential. 

From then on

he mixed sweetner into love
stirred it up into lust
poured his voice
and let it sit
trapped in the circularity  
of music record.

They were sold in the thousands

these intoxicating discs
his voice swirled in city mansions
echoed among splendid furniture
wafted from balconies.
 
His voice descended from up above
wandered from avenue to road to pathways
city to town to village
into the ears of impressionable youth;
and they began wearing bellbottoms
wrapped around themselves large, wide belts,
gathered in street corner and junction
danced the twist
sang with him
‘‘The time it is a-passing
to freeze it all,
hold it tight
this is it,
fun, fun, fun!’

The voice that went away like wind

came back as shining silver rupee coins.

LEAVE A COMMENT 

Prabuddha VII

This is the seventh part of the translation of Mahagama Sekera's epic poem 'Prabuddha', an exercise that has the permission and blessings of the immediate family of Mahagama Sekera. Parts I, II, III, IV, V and VI were published in www.malindapoetry.blogspot.com

Then someone said,
‘Heard you are an artist
how about a song?’

Prabuddha went to the piano

As though seeing a dear friend
When lost, alone and helpless in a far off country.

‘Jagan mohinee…..madhura bhaashinee

charu dehinee…kamala vaasinee
sarasvathee devee…vande
sarasvathee devee…..

Kampitha kanchana maala poojitha kinkini noopura jaalaaa

paada saroje katee thataake chanchala narthana leela
sa-paaa…..ma-paa…pa-da…ga-ma-paaaa
ga-ma-pa-nee….ni-sa-nee-paa….’

They stared

as though he sang the incomprehensible
in an incomprehensible tongue
ill at ease the seemed.

Is this not sweet, this music? 

or have they heard music sweeter still?
do they not understand
tell, pray, what reason for this silence?

‘Master!  This does not please

and not for lack of appreciation,
a pop song it was
that all expected!’

‘A pop song!  A pop song!’

they cried

‘Hey, come one, come all!’

come dance, come sing
for the time it is a-passing
to freeze it all,
Hold it tight
This is it,
fun, fun, fun!
Money, money, money
money to eat
money to drink
money for meat, the choicest cuts
money for drink, the finest wines
got to live for the day
got to have the rupees and the cents
got to do the whatever-it-takes
got to do the whoever-gets-hurt
got to have the money, money, money
hey, come on, come all,
come baby, it’s time to dance
time for fun
time for games,
time to sing and dance
time to forget all
for this, baby, is it
the ultimate
paradise and nothing else!’

Amazing!

Big bellied men, tall and stout

wheezing women, wide of waist
arose from a stupor
tapped their feet, shook their legs
waved arm, threw back head
Set a-trembling their excess flesh:
 
‘Got to do the whatever-it-takes
got to do the whoever-gets-hurt’
 

Arm around waist

they hugged and danced
embraced and kissed
swaying in wine-drenched dream
parents, kids, grandkids,
lost in the half-conscious of song
found in the fully-awake of lust
in an incestuous blend and blur.
 
‘For the time it is a-passing
to freeze it all,
hold it tight
this is it,
fun, fun, fun!’
 
The minister came up,
offered hand:
‘You are a great artist
Wow!’
 
Yasodha kissed him:
‘Beautiful darling,
so wonderful!’

Inferiority complex had left the building

where embarrassment hid, he did not know
‘I cannot myself remember yesterday
and all of you and I, we are one,
we are equal now!’


LEAVE A COMMENT

Face etchings

In line
in texture
skin colour
and the contortions
provoked by moment,
in the intensity of gaze
dropping of glance
are birthed
a hundred transparencies;
there are communities
laid upon these features
histories etched in curve
in scar
in wrinkle
unwrappable
as trial and injustice
triumph and contentment
love and equanimity
and also
as unspeakable
incoherencies
best left undeciphered
for reasons of decency
and the sanctity
of the unstoppable
need to object,
to rebel
and survive

[Inspired by the photography of Nalaka Sanjeewa and published in the UNDO Section of 'The Nation']

LEAVE A COMMENT