Poems Of India - XXIV

Make of my body the beam of a lute
of my head the sounding gourd
of my nerves the strings
of my fingers the plucking rods.

Clutch me close
and play your thirty-two songs
O lord of the meeting rivers !

-- BASAVAŅŅA [Translated by A. K. Ramanujan in the book - Speaking of Siva]



Whatever It was

that made this earth
the base,
the world its life,
the wind its pillar,
arranged the lotus and the moon,
and covered it all with folds
of sky

with Itself inside,

to that Mystery
indifferent to differences,

to It I pray,
O Ramanatha

--DĒVARA DĀSIMAYYA [Translated by A. K. Ramanujan in the book - Speaking of Siva]

Poems Of India - XXIII

People,
male and female,
blush when a cloth covering their shame
comes loose.

When the lord of lives
lives drowned without a face
in the world, how can you be modest?

When all the world is the eye of the lord,
onlooking everywhere, what can you
cover and conceal?

-- Akka Mahādēvi [Translated by A. K. Ramanujan in the book - Speaking of Siva]


Look here, dear fellow:
I wear these men's clothes
only for you.

Sometimes I am man.
sometimes I am woman.

O' lord of the meeting rivers
I'll make war for you
but I'll be your devotees' bride.
 
-- Basavanna [Translated by A. K. Ramanujan in the book - Speaking of Siva]

The Rubaiyat: Quatrain LVII

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Oh, Thou, who didst with Pitfall and with Gin
Beset the Road I was to wander in,
   Thou wilt not with Predestination round
Enmesh me, and impute my Fall to Sin?
 
This is the fifty-seventh quatrain of the FitzGerald's Rubaiyat. The poet says oh, the Creator, it is You who did create all the vice (gin) and the obstacles (pitfalls) in my way. The road that I travel on (life) is beset of just evil distraction and undue hardships. The One is responsible for all these are these designs and baits in his path. With such snares, They can not hold me responsible for getting entangled into such traps. With such a course per-decided, how can They lay blame on me for my Falling. It was always meant to be, I did not get to choose to avoid these or I did not choose these.

Poems Of India - XXII

You can confiscate
money in hand;
can you confiscate
the body's glory?
 
Or peel away every strip
you wear,
but can you peel
the Nothing, the Nakedness
that covers and veils?
 
To the shameless girl
wearing the White Jasmine Lord's
light of morning,
you fool,
where's the need for cover and jewel?

-- Akka Mahādēvi [Translated by A. K. Ramanujan in the book - Speaking of Siva]

 

The world tires itself thinking
it has buried all shadow.

Can shadows die
for limbed animals?

If you rage and curse here
at the thief out there
on the other shore,
will he just drop dead?

These men, they do not know
the secret,
the stitches of feeling;
would our Lord of Caves
come alive
just because they wish it?
 
-- Allama Prabhu [Translated by A. K. Ramanujan in the book - Speaking of Siva]

The Rubaiyat: Quatrain LVI

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And this I know:  whether the one True Light,
Kindle to Love, or Wrath consume me quite,
    One glimpse of It within the Tavern caught
Better than in the Temple lost outright.

This is the fifty-sixth quatrain of the FitzGerald's Rubaiyat. The poet says I know this, I am sure about this. The True Light, the one that drives such passion and emotion of Divine Love or Wrath. Those emotions consumes my entire self. It is better to get a glimpse of that Being in a casual encounter in a tavern where we meet and chance upon as friends or companions on a journey than to be lost utterly trying to find Him in a temple. As an equal companion in a informal tavern, a glimpse could turn into a conversation about the nature of things. But in a temple setting, where I am one of the countless seeker, chances are I will be lost than getting some answers from You.

Poems Of India - XXI

  

Like a silkworm weaving
her house with love
from her marrow,
    and dying
in her body's threads
winding tight, round
and round,

    I burn
desiring what the heart desires.

Cut through. O lord,
my heart's greed,
and show me
your way out,

O lord white as jasmine.

-- Akka Mahādēvi [Translated by A. K. Ramanujan in the book - Speaking of Siva]

 

How can I feel right
    about a god who eats up lacquer and melts,
    who wilts when he sees fire?

How can I feel right
    about gods you sell in your need,
    
    and gods you bury for fear of thieves?

The lord of the meeting rivers,
self-born, one with himself;

he alone is the true god.
 
-- BASAVAŅŅA [Translated by A. K. Ramanujan in the book - Speaking of Siva]

Poems Of India - XX

  

Winnow, winnow!
Look here, fellows
winnow when the wind blows.

Remember, the winds
are not in your hands,

Remember, you cannot say
I'll winnow, I'll winnow
tomorrow.

When the winds of the Lord's grace
lash,
quickly, quickly winnow, winnow,
said our Chowdaiah of the Ferrymen.*

*Grace can not be called, recalled, or commanded. Be prepared to catch It as It passes.

--CHOWDAIAH OF THE FERRYMEN [Translated by A. K. Ramanujan in the book - Speaking of Siva]

 

See-saw watermills bow their heads.
So what?
Do they get to be devotees
to the Master?

The tongs join hands.
So what?
Can they be humble in service
to the Lord?

Parrots recite.
So what?
Can they read the Lord?

How can the slaves of the Bodiless God,
Desire,
know the way
our Lord's Men move
or the stance of their standing?*

*a rejection of orthodox ritual genuflections & recitations

-- BASAVAŅŅA [Translated by A. K. Ramanujan in the book - Speaking of Siva]

The Rubaiyat: Quatrain LV




















The Vine had struck a Fibre; which about
If clings my Being--let the Sufi flout;
Of my Base Metal may be filed a Key,
That shall unlock the Door he howls without.

This is the fifty-fifth quatrain of the FitzGerald's Rubaiyat. The wine (made from grapes from the vines) has stuck me hard, has stuck deep and has touched the marrow. It has wrapped around my Self and moved me to a higher plane. Such is the ecstasy of it! I do not care if the world sees me as a Sufi gone berserk! Let it be! This base and primal and unremarkable state of my Being has now been filed into a Key (by the pleasures of the vine) that will unlock the secrets of the existence, without the howling and fervour utterances that has till now achieved nothing. There is nothing to be found by zealous arguments and passionate devotion. A glass of this would move to a state of mystical bliss where all worries, all questions do not matter.. everything is ephemeral, but it has to be lived.

The Rubaiyat: Quatrain LIV


I tell Thee this---When, starting from the Goal,

Over the shoulders of the flaming Foal
Of Heav'n and Parwin and Mushtari they flung,
In my predestin'd Plot of Dust and Soul.

This is the fifty-fourth quatrain of the FitzGerald's Rubaiyat. To say these lines are obtuse would be an understatement. I have not been able to gather my head around it. There is references to heavenly bodies like Mushtari, Parwin and the flaming foal of heaven. Here is my take. When starting from the Goal (an eventual demise or a fulfillment of something) and looking back and over there in the heavenly sky, lies these eternal bodies flying around and amidst all this my predestined life is playing out from the goal to the birth. If my goal/end is given and decided already so already has my entire life and its origins been. Even if I were to live backwards, these bodies would be flying around and so ignore them for they do not decide the destiny of man. Here dust and soul covers both the material and the supernal and use to 'plot' is used to manifest an intrigue on part of the One who has already decided.

Credits - see here

Poems Of India - XIX

 

Did the breath of the mistress
have breasts and long hair?

Or did the master's breath
wear sacred thread?

Did the outcaste, last in line,
hold with his outgoing breath
the stick of his tribe?

What do the fools of this world know
of the snares you set,

0 Ramanatha?

-- DĒVARA DĀSIMAYYA [Translated by A. K. Ramanujan in the book - Speaking of Siva]

 

The sacrificial lamb brought for the festival
ate up the green leaf brought for the decorations.

Not knowing a thing about the kill,
it wants only to fill its belly:
born that day, to die that day.

But tell me:
    did the killers survive,

0 lord of the meeting rivers?


-- BASAVAŅŅA [Translated by A. K. Ramanujan in the book - Speaking of Siva]