Thursday, January 31, 2008

मेरा नया बचपन

mMaora nayaa bacapna

kivayat`I sauBad/a kumaarI caaOhana

baar baar AatI hO mauJakao,

maQaur yaad bacapna torI .

gayaa Ê lao gayaa tU jaIvana kI

sabasao mast KuSaI maorI ।

icanta riht Kolanaa Kanaa, Ê

vah ifrnaa inaBa-ya svacCMd .

kOsao BaUlaa jaa sakta hO

bacapna ka Atuilat Aanand ।/

!ca naIca ka &ana nahIM qaa Ê

CuAa Cut iksanao jaanaI Ñ

banaI huyaI qaI Aah Ê JaaopD,I

AaOr caIqaD,ao maoM ranaI ।

ike dUQa ko kullao maOMnao

caUsa AMgaUza sauQaa ipyaa .

iklkarI kllaaola macaakr

saUnaa Gar Aabaad ikyaa ।

raonaa AaOr macala jaanaa BaI

@yaa Aanand idKato qao

baD,o baD,o maaotI sao AaM^saU

jayamaalaa phnaato qao ।

maOM rao[- Ê maaM^ kama CaoD,kr

Aa[- Ê mauJakao ]za ilayaa .

JaaD, paoMCkr caUma caUma

gaIlao gaalaaoM kao sauKa idyaa ।

Aa jaa bacapna Ñ ek baar ifr

do do ApnaI inama-la SaaMit .

vyaakula vyaqaa imaTanao vaalaI

vah ApnaI p`akRt ivaEaaMit ।

vah BaaolaI saI maQaur sarlata

vah Pyaara jaIvana inaYpap .

@yaa ifr Aakr imaTa sakogaa

tU maoro mana ka saMtap Æ

maOM bacapna kao baulaa rhI qaI

baaola ]zI ibaiTyaa maorI .

naMdna vana saI fUla ]zI

yah CaoTI saI kuiTyaa ।

ªmaaM^ Aao' khkr baulaa rhI qaI Ê

ima+I Kakr Aa[- qaI .

kuC mauM^h maoM Ê kuC ilae haqa maoM

mauJao iKlaanao Aa[- qaI ।

pulak rho qao AMga Ê dRgaaoM maoM

kaOtUhla qaa Clak rha .

mauM^h pr qaI Aah\laad laailamaa Ê

ivajaya gava- qaa Jalak rha ।

maOMnao pUCa Ê " yah @yaa laa[- Æ "

baaola ]zI vah Ê " maaM^ Ê kaAao ."

huAa p`fuillat hRdya KuSaI sao

maOMnao kha Ê " tumhIM KaAao । "

payaa maOMnao bacapna ifr sao Ê

bacapna baoTI bana Aayaa Ê

]sakI maMjaula maUit- doKkr

mauJamaoM navajaIvana Aayaa ।

maOM BaI ]sako saaqa KolatI

KatI hUM^ Ê tutlaatI hUM^ .

imalakr ]sako saaqa svayaM

maOM BaI baccaI bana jaatI hUM^ ।

ijasao KaojatI qaI barsaaoM sao

Aba jaakr ]sakao payaa .

Baaga gayaa qaa mauJao CaoD,kr

vah bacapna ifr sao Aayaa ।

The Daffodils (William Wordsworth)

Wednesday, January 30, 2008.
Dead Poets' Society -- Session 1.
Recited by Gaurav.
I WANDER'D lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host of golden daffodils,
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the Milky Way,
They stretch'd in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced, but they
Outdid the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay
In such a jocund company!
I gazed, and gazed, but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

Coromandel Fishers (Sarojini Naidu)

Wednesday, January 30, 2008.
Dead Poets' Society -- Session 1.
Recited by Ashwini.
Rise, brothers, rise; the wakening skies pray to the morning light,
The wind lies asleep in the arms of the dawn like a child that has cried all night.
Come, let us gather our nets from the shore and set our catamarans free,
To capture the leaping wealth of the tide, for we are the kings of the sea!

No longer delay, let us hasten away in the track of the sea gull's call,
The sea is our mother, the cloud is our brother, the waves are our comrades all.
What though we toss at the fall of the sun where the hand of the sea-god drives?
He who holds the storm by the hair, will hide in his breast our lives.

Sweet is the shade of the cocoanut glade, and the scent of the mango grove,
And sweet are the sands at the full o' the moon with the sound of the voices we love;
But sweeter, O brothers, the kiss of the spray and the dance of the wild foam's glee;
Row, brothers, row to the edge of the verge, where the low sky mates with the sea.

Charge of the Light Brigade (Alfred Lord Tennyson)

Wednesday, January 30, 2008.
Dead Poets' Society -- Session 1.
Recited by Ganesh.
Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
`Forward, the Light Brigade!
Charge for the guns!' he said:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

`Forward, the Light Brigade!'
Was there a man dismay'd?
Not tho' the soldier knew
Some one had blunder'd:
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell
Rode the six hundred.

Flash'd all their sabres bare,
Flash'd as they turn'd in air
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army, while
All the world wonder'd:
Plunged in the battery-smoke
Right thro' the line they broke;
Cossack and Russian
Reel'd from the sabre-stroke
Shatter'd and sunder'd.
Then they rode back, but not
Not the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon behind them
Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
While horse and hero fell,
They that had fought so well
Came thro' the jaws of Death,
Back from the mouth of Hell,
All that was left of them,
Left of six hundred.

When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
All the world wonder'd.
Honour the charge they made!
Honour the Light Brigade,
Noble six hundred!

Ithaka (Constantine Cavafy)

Wednesday, January 30, 2008.
Dead Poets' Society -- Session 1.
Recited by Vinod.
As you set out for Ithaka
hope the journey is a long one,
full of adventure, full of discovery.
Laistrygonians and Cyclops,
angry Poseidon - don't be afraid of them:
you'll never find things like that on your way
as long as you keep your thoughts raised high,
as long as a rare excitement
stirs your spirit and your body.
Laistrygonians and Cyclops,
wild Poseidon - you won't encounter them
unless you bring them along inside your soul,
unless your soul sets them up in front of you.

Hope the voyage is a long one.
may there be many a summer morning when,
with what pleasure, what joy,
you come into harbours seen for the first time;
may you stop at Phoenician trading stations
to buy fine things,
mother of pearl and coral, amber and ebony,
sensual perfume of every kind -
as many sensual perfumes as you can;
and may you visit many Egyptian cities
to gather stores of knowledge from their scholars.

Keep Ithaka always in your mind.
Arriving there is what you are destined for.
But do not hurry the journey at all.
Better if it lasts for years,
so you are old by the time you reach the island,
wealthy with all you have gained on the way,
not expecting Ithaka to make you rich.

Ithaka gave you the marvellous journey.
without her you would not have set out.
She has nothing left to give you now.

And if you find her poor, Ithaka won't have fooled you.
Wise as you will have become, so full of experience,
you will have understood by then what these Ithakas mean.

The Road Not Taken (Robert Frost)

Wednesda, January 30, 2008.
Dead Poets' Society -- Session 1.
Recited by Savitha.
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Ode to Clothes (Pablo Neruda)

Wednesday, January 30, 2008.
Dead Poets' Society -- Session 1.
Recited by Arun.
Every morning you wait,
clothes, over a chair,
to fill yourself with
my vanity, my love,
my hope, my body.
risen from sleep,
I relinquish the water,
enter your sleeves,
my legs look for
the hollows of your legs,
and so embraced
by your indefatigable faithfulness
I rise, to tread the grass,
enter poetry,
consider through the windows,
the things,
the men, the women,
the deeds and the fights
go on forming me,
go on making me face things
working my hands,
opening my eyes,
using my mouth,
and so,
I too go forming you,
extending your elbows,
snapping your threads,
and so your life expands
in the image of my life.
In the wind
you billow and snap
as if you were my soul,
at bad times
you cling
to my bones,
vacant, for the night,
darkness, sleep
populate with their phantoms
your wings and mine.
I wonder
if one day
a bullet
from the enemy
will leave you stained with my blood
and then
you will die with me
or one day
not quite
so dramatic
but simple,
you will fall ill,
with me,
grow old
with me, with my body
and joined
we will enter
the earth.
Because of this
each day
I greet you
with reverence and then
you embrace me and I forget you,
because we are one
and we will go on
facing the wind, in the night,
the streets or the fight,
a single body,
one day, one day, some day, still.

If (Rudyard Kipling)

Wednesday, January 30, 2008.
Dead Poets' Society -- Session 1.
Recited by Itisha.
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too:
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream -- and not make dreams your master;
If you can think -- and not make thoughts your aim,
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same:
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings,
And never breathe a word about your loss:
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings -- nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much:
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And -- which is more -- you'll be a Man, my son!

Dead Poets' Society -- Session 1 (Itisha's place)

Wednesday, January 30, 2008.

Ganesh, AshwiniG, Gaurav, Itisha, Arun, Savitha, and Vinod.

If -- Rudyard Kipling (Itisha)
Ode to Clothes -- Pablo Neruda (Arun)
The Road Not Taken -- Robert Frost (Savitha)
Ithaka -- Constantine Cavafy (Vinod)
Charge of the Light Brigade -- Alfred Lord Tennyson (Ganesh)
Coromandel Fishers -- Sarojini Naidu (AshwiniG)
The Daffodils -- William Wordsworth (Gaurav)

Principia Poetica

It all started with a passing remark by Itisha. "We should get together and read poems." We were talking about days spent in school and the poems we had read and still remembered. From there to forming an Austin's version of Dead Poets' Society to having its first session took less than a week. The plan is simple. Gather for an hour every Wednesday evening and read out your favorite poems. Folks add in their comments. Potentially we might even read out acts from different plays. The possibilities are immense!