Thursday, March 22, 2018

Fathi Marzougui (Tunisia) translates my 'SPIRITUAL FLICKERS' into Arabic


قبسات روحانية
أتثاقل بعيدا عن
موسم المؤامرات
وتبرهن الحياة عن وجود كاذب
بكلمة جوفاء
ونشيج تراتيل بائسة
............
أتمنى لو أحيا
على إيقاع الطبيعة متحررا من
عبودية الزمن
وطقوس النوم والعمل
(أحيا) تفاصيل التجلي في قصيدة "الهايكو"
...........
على سجاد الصلاة
اليدان مرفوعتان
لا تصلان إلى المعبود
رغم طول التضرغ
وليل الشتاء الأطول
...............
العقل الخلاق
يدفن رغباته الخاصة
فكرة خضراء
خلف شجرة البان
خلف شهوة خفية
....................
لم أستطع التعرف عليها
لامن خلال جسمها ولا بشرتها
ولا تقاسيمها
عطرها المغشوش
كترانيم مقدسة تنشد
للأمل ولارجع صدى
.............................
مالاسبيل إليه
هو ملاحقة تلك الروح المخفية
بعذاباتها
عطش الروح والفتنة
والصمت المتعب كل ذلك لايطاق
...........................
غير قادر على الرؤية
ورغم أنفه يقول
ويتأمل
فتلوح له رؤى "بوذا"
تبكي علينا
.......................
ابتلعت المراة
اثار قدمي على الشاطئ
ولم أستطع أن ألوم الأمواج
والإوز يحلق فوق رأسي
لتنتقل الظلال بعيدا
..............................
الطريق إلى المعبد
عبر الوحل والغباروالطين
وظهر زحل أسود
مطوقا بسياج
متحفز للتحرش
........................
ليس شيئا ممتعا
فالليل بارد والعال مزمن
فالليل بارد والسعال مزمن
وحيد (أنا) في عيد الميلاد
فلامكان هادئا بالداخل
ولابداية طيبة لعام جديد
............................
رام كريشنا سينغ





Fathi Marzougui , Nsar Allah, Tunisia is a renowned Tunisian writer.  He translated the award winning poem on 21 March 2018 as part of World Poetry Day celebration.






SPIRITUAL FLICKERS

Ram Krishna Singh

Plodding away at
season’s conspiracies
life has proved untrue
with God an empty word
and prayers helpless cries


I wish I could live
nature’s rhythm free from
bondage of clock-time
rituals of work and sleep
expanding haiku present


on the prayer mat
the hands raised in vajrasan
couldn’t contact God—
the prayer was too long and
the winter night still longer


the mind creates
withdrawn to its own pleasures
a green thought
behind the banyan tree
behind the flickering lust


I can’t know her
from the body, skin or curve:
the perfume cheats
like the sacred hymns chanted
in hope, and there’s no answer


unknowable
the soul’s pursuit hidden
by its own works:
the spirit’s thirst, the strife
the restless silence, too much


unable to see
beyond the nose he says
he meditates
and sees visions of Buddha
weeping for us


the mirror swallowed
my footprints on the shore
I couldn’t blame the waves
the geese kept flying over head
the shadows kept moving afar


the lane to temple
through foul drain, dust, and mud:
black back of Saturn
in a locked enclosure
a harassed devotee


not much fun—
cold night, asthmatic cough
and lonely Christmas:
no quiet place within
no fresh start for the New Year


https://www.facebook.com/profrksingh/posts/10152210131384434


--Ram Krishna Singh http://www.ahapoetry.com/ahalynx/291Solo.html

Friday, February 23, 2018

BOOK REVIEW: GOD TOO AWAITS LIGHT by Patricia Prime




God Too Awaits Light by Ram Krishna Singh. Joshua Tree, CA 2017. Pb, 66 pp.  $4.00

Reviewed by Patricia Prime, New Zealand Poetry Society

Ram Krishna Singh has authored 160 research articles, 170 book reviews and 42 books. His published poetry collections include My Silence (1985), Above the Earth’s Green (1997) and Sense and Silence: Collected Poems (2010).

Writing as a poet of vast experience, Singh tackles the intriguing questions about our humanity with warmth, insight and critical precision. He shows us a fresh way of looking at ourselves and details the pleasures and pitfalls of the lived life. He also roams far and wide through their contexts: love, peace, anger, prayer, from love to psychology.

God Too Awaits Light is a collection of short poems. Singh is an expert scene-setter, imbuing his work with brief moments of movement that the reader observes for a minute, and is left feeling for a long while afterwards, as we see in the following poem:

The wings of my thought
are too short to climb God’s height
or blue deeps of peace:
I stand on the edge of
earth’s physicality (p.7)

Here is the gentle, self-directed irony of a mature voice: a voice that expresses delight in his contact with God. The poet is keen to ensure that events – and the feelings surrounding these events – are preserved in some way. In the following poem, for example, there is rhythm in the house caused by its small movements:

elements clack
in the small house shudder
the harp and strings (p.7)

There is some wonderful material in these pages which brings life to a simple performance of prayer, in which the poet is unable to contact God:

on the prayer mat
the hands raised in vajrasan
couldn’t contact God –
the prayer was too long and
the winter night still longer (p.13)

Singh’s use of sound to stitch his words over lines is glorious. His ability to give us the unadorned and the prettier parts in the same small verse, making an elegy, a love song or a prayer, is remarkable. Here, for example, is his thought about people who worship god in prayer, although their hearts are not pure:

psalms or no psalms
workers of iniquity
shoot their arrows
with praising lips and god
flees to see their shrewd schemes (p.21)

In the following two love poems, the concentration on capturing the ephemeral and holding it tenderly on the page for the reader to appreciate is very clear. The poems sparkle with connection, and with the ache of simultaneously ageing, loving and presence of the other:

as I repose in
the wrinkles of her face
I feel her crimson
glow in my eyes her holy
scent inside a sea of peace (p. 36)

and

love is the efflux
from her body spreading
parabolic hue –
enlightens the self I merge
in her glowing presence (p.37)

In these five-line or less poems there is no punctuation, nothing holding the poem down on the page. There is a haiku-like quality to the concentration of images in the poems. The light touch of the poet as he observes the candle lighting the dark in the following poem is so deft, so graceful, it is no more than the shadow of something otherworldly:

awake in dream time
I look for the candle –
love’s invitation
lighting up in the dark
and sing the body’s song (p.45)

Singh uses the shadowy effect again in a poem that features “a cloud-eagle” and a “soundless sea”, suggesting the setting that is perhaps beside the beach:

a cloud-eagle
curves to the haze
in the west
skimming the sail
on soundless sea (p. 55)

candling in vein
leave marks of teeth on her neck
utter holiness (p. 56)

These are poems about being wholly present where you are, literally, absorbed in life , but they are also a meditation on ageing and one’s own mortality. The poet’s relationship with his wife invests the poems with a tender poignancy. But lacking an anti-ageing potion or the nectar of the gods, we have only poetry. No doubt, Ram Krishna Singh’s poems will nourish our hearts and minds.

All that is left to the reader to decide is whether these short poems are tanka, haiku or a hybrid. The following three-line poem, for example, is in-between a haiku and a tanka:

float over the hill
the autumn circle of smoke –
her long hair streaming

Readers will surely enjoy soaring with these poems and rediscover within
themselves – be they male or female – elements of the divine whose presence lifts
us out of the humdrum and gives us wings.

-- Patricia Prime, New Zealand Poetry Society

Click here to purchase God Too Awaits Light, $4.00 

Thursday, February 08, 2018

Varsha Singh reviews my two books in the Hindi daily, Dainik Bashkar

Cotiporã Cultural, No. 73

Cotiporã Cultural, World International Connection Peoples, Edição: Janeiro e Fevereiro de 2018 Nº73

GOD TOO AWAITS LIGHT

Ram Krishna Singh, nascido, criado e
educado em Varanasi, é um professor
universitário aposentado, cujos principais
campos de interesse consistem na escrita de Inglês indiano, especialmente a
poesia, e o Inglês para fins específicos,
especialmente para ciência e tecnologia. Ele
ensinou habilidades de inglês para estudantes
de UG e PG de ciências e engenharia de terra e
mineração por cerca de quatro décadas.

Contato em Inglês: profrksingh@gmail.com

Friday, January 26, 2018

PUSH




No one around,
before the paper deity
dead flowers
giving me the push
"Quick, get up," I hear


http://www.boloji.com/poem/24793/push 









Tuesday, January 16, 2018

Some Recent Poems, from Bangalore, in LIFE AND LEGENDS

HOMA
Random flames in colors
meld unnamed images of fire
freezing on the kitchen walls
the soot thickens solitude
with dimming watery eyes
and asthmatic mantra
mother offers homa
each day and night
but no Agni is pleased
.
I WALK AGAIN
Rheumatic walking
the crippling lumbar crisis
they pity and pass
the waiting sun
at the naked tree’s corner
my hazy vision
managing to survive
with repair and maintenance
ageing road
revives the dying nerves
her momentary smile in sleep–
I walk again
.
JOURNEY
To win elections
they sponsor chaos chanting
Modi  Modi
kill tongues that utter dissent
or oppose foolishness
in the name of Ram
cow, love-jehad, reform
close all windows
making dysfunctional
the holy constitution
with small deities
watching periodic tango
pop up dinners
global collaborations
in newer territories
without money pouring in
dreams rise and sell
feet forward, head backward
relishing lies of
gourmet journey
.
RESURRECTION
The deities are dumb
so they speak
louder and louder
vie with each other
for godhood
descend from mosque top
to Supreme Court
now await
resurrection
.
NOISY SILENCE
Unemptied
the cup of remorse–
begging bowl
before the dumb deity
years of noisy silence
*****

http://lifeandlegends.com/ram-krishna-singh-2/
.

Saturday, January 13, 2018

Adão Wons translates my poem into Portuguese

Turns off the mood
for prayer in the park--
smelly underarm
of a fellow walker
running to reduce weight

--R K Singh
 
Desliga o humor
para a oração no parque -
axila mal cheirosa
de um colega andador
correndo para reduzir o peso.
-R.K. Singh

Translated by Adão Wons

The translated poem will appear soon in
Cotiporã Cultural that the poet edits

 

Monday, January 08, 2018

Joseph Berolo translates some of my poems

http://www.aveviajera.org/nacionesunidasdelasletras/id1202.html

Poet editor friend Joseph Berolo translates some of my poems and includes my biobibliography in the latest edition of Naciones Unidas de las Letras, Volumen No. XXVII   Año 27, January 2018Querido Joseph Berolo. Gracias por el honor acordado a mi poesía en Naciones Unidas de las Letras  permitiéndome llegar a su numerosa audiencia. Reciba usted y todos los miembros  de Uniletras mis mejores deseos póeticos.

AFTER THE ACT
Después del Acto 

They practice death
in school and blame India:
terrorist politics.
Ellos ejercen muerte
en la escuela y culpan a ka  India
de politicas terroristas*

No wake-up call
be it Nawaz or Modi
power luxury
in angel costume
each invokes divine
condemnation.

Sin llamada de alerta
bien sea de Nawaz o Modi,
la lujuria del poder
vestido de ángel,
cada cual invocala condenación divina 
 
After the act
ritual truth burial
and peace politics.
Después del acto
el entierro ritual de la verdad
y  las politicas de paz.

2.
YOU CAN'T SCENT ME

In the poems I write
you can read my mind
even know when I'm blue
before the mirror
when I stand in the dark
you can't scent me
nor will words comfort
in chilly December
when alone in candle light
empty coffee cups
deride the syllables
I spin to make haiku
my hairs in air
reveal the baldness:
wank without wad.  


No puedes con mi esencia

Puedes leer mi mente/
en los poemas que escribo/
aún cuando estoy lívido/
ante el espejo/.
Cuando permanezco en la sombra
/no puedes con mi esencia/ .
Las  palabras de consuelo/
en un diciembre helado/cuando solo a la luz de un candil/
con tasas de café vacías/,
se burlan de las sílabas/
yo doy vueltas componiendo haiku/
mi cabello crispado/
refleja la calvicie:una paja sin varita mágica. 

3.DEBRIS OF DREAMS

It's near butevery place has a distanceand people toothey flee to seeme in their vicinitysense a dangerI don't belong:they curse me for what I'm notself-made miserytraps them to hellI can't help their doom nor stoptheir wanton ragedown to smallnessthey hate only themselves andsculpt new sorrowsI must erasethe debris of dreams they leaveand be at peace.
 
 
Restos de sueños
 

Está cerca pero
cada lugar tiene una distancia
 y la gente también.
Huye para no verme  en la vecindad
sentir el peligro
al que no pertenezco.
Me maldicen por lo que no soy.
Su miseria consentida
en el infierno los atrapa..
Nada puedo hacer en su condena,
no puedo detener su rabia sin sentido
 reducida a nada...
Yo debo borrar los restos
de los sueños que ellas dejan
 y estar en Paz. 
4.
Dreams of Clay 
They make my face
ugly in my own sight
what shall I see in the mirror?
there is no beauty
or holiness left
in the naked nation:
the streams flow dark
and the hinges of doors moan
politics of corruption
I weep for its names
and the faces they deface
with clay dreams

Sueños de arcilla
Ellos afean mi rostro
ante mi mismo.
¿Qué debo ver en el espejo?
Allí no hay belleza
ni queda santidad
en la nación desnuda:
los riachuelos corren negros
y las bisagras de las puertas gimen
politicas corruptas.
Lloro por ellos  
y los rostros que desfiguran 
con sus sueños de arcilla.
 Traductor Joseph Berolo