I keep listening to this song so very often... It has a beautiful monologue followed by the song which is too good... Check the link, if not for the words, one can appreciate and enjoy the music...
Monologue
After it has rained, now my mind becomes like the waterdrops on the window pane.
It crawls on the water towards the horizon.
Raindrops hanging on the dry leaves
After it has rained I belong to the wet trees.
After it has rained my mind is nothing but rain drops and hail
like those kids playing in mud water keeping their mother unaware
I have bashed all the restraints on my mind and am set on a wet roads
After it has rained am a wet moon
who has blown off all he stars and it resting at peace.
After it has rained, my mind is like a free parrot
After it has rained, my mind is nothig but Gaarva.
The Song
Gaarva, like a free parrot
eveything is new, fresh
My Love, the moon in the skies
is all new, fresh.
A song is dwelling is the grass
At green baks of a green river
I am the water pettles
New and Fresh
Gaarva
My Love, my mind is all new, fresh.
The sky is wearing stars
and the winds are all silver
I am the water pettles
New and Fresh
Gaarva
My Love, like your sweetness
which is all new, fresh.
My Love, the moon in the skies
is all new, fresh.
Gaarva.
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Monday, November 02, 2009
…spontaneous flow of powerful emotions…
Some words and phrases remain etched in our memory for long, for no reason, or just so that we can recall and savor those moments. 17 years ago, on that foggy winter morning, wrapped in a black muffler and wearing black gloves, I heard her say this, and I remember it till date.
“All good poetry is the spontaneous flow of powerful emotions...recollected in tranquility.” That’s what Wordsworth said about poetry. And that’s was MJ told her class of 20 odd students. This was the very year when I realized English after all was an interesting subject and much easier to understand with lectures delivered by good looking teachers.
MJ taught British and American poetry to us. Though her accent was not akin to the Queens’, her knowledge, the delivery style, and the genuineness bowled us. The last two were what we could judge for sure!
I remember her teaching us the shortest poem I have ever come across – A E Housman’s The Loveliest of Trees. This poem is all about life and the time and beauty we have with us as humans. While she was explaining this poem, she asked us how old the poet as per the poem was. We were baffled! How on earth we could decode his age from the poem, and especially when no biographical text was available in the book. We weren’t sure what a score amounted to, especially when we had not read it in our school math book, and I am sure all 20+ pair of eyes wandered in different directions except where M J’s was!
I don’t remember exactly which of the following two sonnets we had in college; I guess both – one in FYBA and the other in TYBA, but anyway they were good and though I could understand the second one, the first line of the first one I managed to understand based on my imaginations [holy & wild]:
Elegy Written In a Country Churchyard, a poetry about human mortality I guess, and written by not so prolific poet, Thomas Gray, has always sort of depressed me. And the best of MJ’s delivery style could not lift my learning spirits when this was being taught. Foggy winter days or winter in general is not conducive for learning or absorbing the literary significance of such pieces.
My love for the language and the power of words to carry mental me to a different sphere [read oblivious, undiscovered, naive romanticism] lead me to attend English Poetry classes for senior students. No questions were asked, no objection ever rose, for no one except for the students knew if English was their subject or the teacher!
I think I read La Belle Dame Sans Merci during my graduation days. My mother surprised me when she told me the title in English translated to ‘a beautiful lady without mercy’. During my working life I have had the privilege of associating and remembering few belle with this title – PK, zalim hasina is one such belle!
Though I am an avid poetry reader since college days, have acquired the maturity to understand those ‘spontaneous flow of powerful emotions’ post academic days only. My all time favorite poet is John Keats. I can still deliver at least the following two stanzas form the Ode to a Nightingale, of course with few pauses to recollect…
My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,
Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains
One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:
'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,
But being too happy in thine happiness, -
That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees,
In some melodious plot
Of beechen green and shadows numberless,
Singest of summer in full-throated ease.
O, for a draught of vintage! that hath been
Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth,
Tasting of Flora and the country green,
Dance, and Provençal song, and sunburnt mirth!
O for a beaker full of the warm South,
Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene,
With beaded bubbles winking at the brim,
And purple-stained mouth;
That I might drink, and leave the world unseen,
And with thee fade away into the forest dim:
“All good poetry is the spontaneous flow of powerful emotions...recollected in tranquility.” That’s what Wordsworth said about poetry. And that’s was MJ told her class of 20 odd students. This was the very year when I realized English after all was an interesting subject and much easier to understand with lectures delivered by good looking teachers.
MJ taught British and American poetry to us. Though her accent was not akin to the Queens’, her knowledge, the delivery style, and the genuineness bowled us. The last two were what we could judge for sure!
I remember her teaching us the shortest poem I have ever come across – A E Housman’s The Loveliest of Trees. This poem is all about life and the time and beauty we have with us as humans. While she was explaining this poem, she asked us how old the poet as per the poem was. We were baffled! How on earth we could decode his age from the poem, and especially when no biographical text was available in the book. We weren’t sure what a score amounted to, especially when we had not read it in our school math book, and I am sure all 20+ pair of eyes wandered in different directions except where M J’s was!
I don’t remember exactly which of the following two sonnets we had in college; I guess both – one in FYBA and the other in TYBA, but anyway they were good and though I could understand the second one, the first line of the first one I managed to understand based on my imaginations [holy & wild]:
Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate…
…love is not love, Which alters when it alteration finds, Or bends with the remover to remove…
Elegy Written In a Country Churchyard, a poetry about human mortality I guess, and written by not so prolific poet, Thomas Gray, has always sort of depressed me. And the best of MJ’s delivery style could not lift my learning spirits when this was being taught. Foggy winter days or winter in general is not conducive for learning or absorbing the literary significance of such pieces.
My love for the language and the power of words to carry mental me to a different sphere [read oblivious, undiscovered, naive romanticism] lead me to attend English Poetry classes for senior students. No questions were asked, no objection ever rose, for no one except for the students knew if English was their subject or the teacher!
I think I read La Belle Dame Sans Merci during my graduation days. My mother surprised me when she told me the title in English translated to ‘a beautiful lady without mercy’. During my working life I have had the privilege of associating and remembering few belle with this title – PK, zalim hasina is one such belle!
Though I am an avid poetry reader since college days, have acquired the maturity to understand those ‘spontaneous flow of powerful emotions’ post academic days only. My all time favorite poet is John Keats. I can still deliver at least the following two stanzas form the Ode to a Nightingale, of course with few pauses to recollect…
My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,
Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains
One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:
'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,
But being too happy in thine happiness, -
That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees,
In some melodious plot
Of beechen green and shadows numberless,
Singest of summer in full-throated ease.
O, for a draught of vintage! that hath been
Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth,
Tasting of Flora and the country green,
Dance, and Provençal song, and sunburnt mirth!
O for a beaker full of the warm South,
Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene,
With beaded bubbles winking at the brim,
And purple-stained mouth;
That I might drink, and leave the world unseen,
And with thee fade away into the forest dim:
Thursday, May 14, 2009
आज जाने की जिद ना करो
मेरे ख़याल से, जिसने भी आज तक फरीदा खानुम की येः ग़ज़ल सुनी है, उसने उसी महफिल मे इस ग़ज़ल को दुबारा सुनने की फरमाईश या चाहत ज़रूर राखी है!
आज जाने की जिद ना करो, यूँ he पहलु मे बैठे राहों,
आज जाने की जिद ना करो, यूँ he पहलु मे बैठे राहों
हाये मर जायेंगे, हम तौ लुट जायेंगे, एसी बातें ना किया करो,
आज जाने की जिद ना करो...
तुम he सोंचो ज़रा कियों ना रोके तुम्हे, जान जाती है जब उठके जाते हो तुम
तुम को आपनी कसम जानेजां, बात इतनी मेरी मान लो,
आज जाने की जिद ना करो...
वक़्त की कैद मे ज़िन्दगी है मगर, चन्द घडियां येही है जो आजाद है,
इनको खो कर अभी जानेजां, उम्र भर ना तरसते राहों,
आज जाने की जिद ना करो...
कितना मासूम ओ रंगीन है येःसमां, हुस्न और इश्क की आज मीराज है
कल की किसको ख़बर जानेजां, रोक लो आज की रात को,
आज जाने की जिद ना करो, यूँ he पहलु मे बैठे राहों...
आज जाने की जिद ना करो, यूँ he पहलु मे बैठे राहों,
आज जाने की जिद ना करो, यूँ he पहलु मे बैठे राहों
हाये मर जायेंगे, हम तौ लुट जायेंगे, एसी बातें ना किया करो,
आज जाने की जिद ना करो...
तुम he सोंचो ज़रा कियों ना रोके तुम्हे, जान जाती है जब उठके जाते हो तुम
तुम को आपनी कसम जानेजां, बात इतनी मेरी मान लो,
आज जाने की जिद ना करो...
वक़्त की कैद मे ज़िन्दगी है मगर, चन्द घडियां येही है जो आजाद है,
इनको खो कर अभी जानेजां, उम्र भर ना तरसते राहों,
आज जाने की जिद ना करो...
कितना मासूम ओ रंगीन है येःसमां, हुस्न और इश्क की आज मीराज है
कल की किसको ख़बर जानेजां, रोक लो आज की रात को,
आज जाने की जिद ना करो, यूँ he पहलु मे बैठे राहों...
Monday, September 17, 2007
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