ಎಷ್ಟು ದಿನ

ಇಷ್ಟು ದಿನ ಆ ಕಾದಂಬರಿ...
ಎಷಟ್ು ದಿನ ಈ ಕವಿತೆ
ಎಷ್ಟು ದಿನ ಈ ಕನಸು
ಎಷಟು ದಿನ...

ಈ ವೈಕುಂಠ
ನಾನು ಮಾಡಿದ ಕಾರ್ಮವೇ

ಈ ಜೀವನದಲ್ಲಿ ಎಷ್ಟು ವೇಶ
ಈ ಆಟದಲ್ಲಿ ಎಷ್ಟು ಪದ್ಯ
ಇದು ಯಾರ ರಾಗ, ಯಾರ ಕುಣಿತ ಅದು
ಈ ಮಾಯ ಯಾರ ಕಥೆ

ಸುಖ-ದುಃಖದಲ್ಲಿ ಇದು ನನ್ನ ಜೇವನ
ಅಂತರಂಗದೊಳಗೆ ದೀಪ ಹಚ್ಚಿದೆ

schattenlaub meiner träume

schattenlaub meiner träume
zittert im gras
warm
ist die
tagsommerrinde deiner bäume
gedankenverloren dunkelt
der abend
leise zittert
das schattenlaub meiner träume
auf deinem stamm

the next life may not come easy

i lead a sheltered existence
within these walls the cares are few
but my house was built close to the water
i harbour many tears
from the bottomless well i draw up
memories of forgotten existences

the world's suffering
existential desperation
anger and compassion

in this life 

how fortunate i have been

showered with blessings

really! life has been easy

idealism dried up unnoticed

tired i water my tiny patch
with existentialist despair
keep the beans on my own plate
and the cold winds out

strong roof solid walls
i tied myself to illusions

break
down

drop

kindness
spreading outwards
in circles ever widening
from a fearless centre

make-belief

i put kisses in make-belief bubbles
to hang by my children's beds
i tell them the kisses will be there all night
will be there in case they need them
will be there when they wake up from a dream
will be there when i am gone

i blow a kiss and a bubble
and send them to ride on the winds
ride through the night of the new moon
ride to the edge of my dreams
ride till they reach the morning
of my imaginary lover's lands

he'll find the kiss in the bubble
and hang it by his bed
he knows i will be there beside him
at night when he wakes from a dream

in my heart there is a bubble
and a make-belief kiss
and the moon
my imaginary heart

over night

over night the scent of our love-making
has gone cold on the bed and between
my legs you
have gone down to make
tea my breast
is warm where you rested your head
last night

sky blues

the sky has stolen its blue from the ocean
the salt in the wind betrays the thief
he carried foam from the waves through the night
to tease the sun with a cloud

[work in progress]

summer (double haiku)

finally sunshine
is here. summer holidays
and the children play

in the park the tree
tops catch the cold sea breeze
shadow leaves shiver

sommermorgen

am morgen krieche ich schlaf
trunken aus dem feuchten gras der wiese
aus dem schatten der linden
tropften süße träume

morgendunstige wolken versickern lautlos
in frühes blau die eberesche bietet vogelbeeren feil
für die amsel blinzelnd
lehn ich am zaun

haiku 1

I've always had a fascination for haikus and might work on them again for a bit, so here's a clumsy attempt. This one has a 7-5-7 syllable structure but I'll be working towards counting in morae which is more accurate to the Japanese tradition.

on my window the raindrops
knock softly. summer
is here and weeping roses.

translating

i twist words
i wrestle
with authors
dead or alive

this is a contact sport, dangerous for both sides

the "original" stays on the page
laughing at me and taunting
approximations of meaning tumble
from the dictionary
my best friend

putting the words into a bag i give them a good shake and then take a lucky!
dip, to re-arrange them on a new page
or stare at the same sentence until my eyes water waiting for divine
inspiration
until both
source and target language
(mother! tongue)
blur into meaninglessness

sometimes the practised routines fall apart
slipping into someone else's skin i begin
to see the world through the eyes of their words
for a moment, i paint with someone else's colours
sing with someone else's voice...

(work in progress. just to express some feelings i had while working)

everyday song

my neighbours' music is the soundtrack
of my children's early years
next door, some
body sometimes sings with abandon
& out of tune
like the ice-cream vans' melody
halfway through a rainy summer

you splash in the puddles
your faces all sunny
childhood summers and ice-cream are still synonymous
as you sing with abandon ancient songs
worlds gone by
i am glad none of us has perfect pitch

before you go

before you go
turn the lights down
draw the curtains and

close
the door

take today's food with you
and the flowers
take my favourite tune
take the sun the moon and the stars if you must
take a black bangle

take one last look at me
sleeping

leave me
a poem a melody a smell and
a memory

leave me
a smile on my face as i dream

turn the lights down and
close the door

for Kamala Das

it was one of those
accidental discoveries that
strike like
lightning

i never knew you, Kamala,
did not know someone like you
existed, lived, loved,
and wrote poetry
i read,
i see the blue sea, and the beaches,
i swim with you, Kamala, and you talk to me about love,
about men (did your husband ever read your poems?), and like so many times before, i wish i had
black hair and a
dravidian face like you when you were my age but still my hair is wheaten, my skin
milky and cold, i was born in a country where coconuts do not grow
you passed like rain

you take my hand and you look into my eyes
and you see fright and shame and you tell me what
it means: to be a woman, and i
see, i feel, i
know. now. your bold words, so many uncharted territories
you bring a mirror and it shows the beauty
of what is and what might be

[Kamala Das was from Kerala, wrote poetry in English and prose in Malayalam. She was born in 1934 and died in 2009. Some of her poems can be found here: http://www.poemhunter.com/kamala-das/]

evening after rain

rain
water
collects
slowly
on the leaves
the setting sun
all we have today
caught in each drop
a golden gem
shines for a
moment
on the
edge

then gone. fallen from a height. for a
moment
it is darker, then the next drop
forms, catches the sunlight until it, too,
drops
and again until the sun sets behind the wall
and i gather
the days riches

pieces of me

give me a sharp knife and and i will cut myself into pieces
i am sure they can exist independently
one can be wife and mother
one can be a cellist
one can be a dancer
one can be a poet
one can be a translator
one can be a scholar
one can follow the spiritual path

where we will be your friend
your lover, and the blue sky inside
the warm earth

wholeness
is a loaf of bread
give me a sharp knife

vision

we are a thousand golden buddhas floating in the sky
radiating mindfulness
lotus seated suns
we are a thousand golden buddhas

vulnerability

within boundaries i try to keep
myself
within walls i have erected
behind veils i have chosen
i try to play safe

the defences are not strong
enough
not thick enough the thorny hedges
and the guards are not vigilant
enough

opening my eyes my inside spills
out
i look at you and there is nothing
between us
my self all bare and nowhere to hide
the passion
it is always like this

how embarrassing!
my heart pounding a hasty retreat i stumble into the thorns, i am held up by the door-keepers, there is no room inside, the wind blows the veil away, i have said too much already, next time i will keep silent and
contain myself
within

bedtime story

when i was little, i often had trouble falling asleep, i used to lay awake for what felt like a very long time until finally sleep came; sometimes i sang songs to myself & in summer, i lay awake listening to the birdsong. when the nightingale came to the tree where the brook passed under the rail tracks, i tried to stay awake on purpose not to miss a single note of her song & sometimes i gathered rose petals from the wild roses in the hedges near the brook to sleep on during those nights.
on other nights, i imagined stories; one favourite was to imagine myself living on a small cloud travelling across the sky; i would lie in the soft cloud as if in the shelter of a bed, wanting nothing, light as a feather & seen by no-one, i could look down at the beautiful earth.
nobody can touch me there on the cloud & i am touched by nothing, the wind takes me into any direction the earth's currents move: sea, land, forests, rivers, mountains; the sun throws blankets over me in different hues of gold, amber, flames &  the stars, the moon, the vast skies night & day –
i can just watch everything... pass ... even if i want to linger, the cloud moves on, the picture changes, the surface of the earth, around me only softness, the warmth of day & the cold of night; nothing to hold... on to ... it is still up here on my cloud, the sounds are muted, too –
and i sleep... and sleep... wake me up only when the sun shines & the skies are pretty & the roses flower & the nightingale sings (she no longer comes there, and this bird has flown)
i am so tired &
there is going to be rain

remembering Dilip Chitre

sunday morning. grey skies. picking up a book
(contemporary indian poetry) opening it with excitement
i see your name
there
and i remember, sun shine,
tübingen 2003

then, too, i did not know where to go
from there

flipping through to the back of the book
(black cover, night rain) notes on the authors
your name again, born 1938
and died
why did nobody tell me
where was i
december 2009

where

nobody told me

but who would remember those days
when we sat there, alte aula
after your talk, i think you came twice
in between you went to other places
die liebe katrin
stirred, disturbed, questioned by your words
i had just graduated as an indologist
an indian omlet
your phrase

your smile was there in the old walls above the river
so many have written about it
i remember your hat
it was the year your son died
and i never made it to pune
my work became a poetic scramble, bells on toes
this poem is for you, Dilip
i never saw you again
(but maybe we will) says Tuka

Hyson Green

wheelie bins, dog poo and concrete roses
in the back
yards and clothes lines
kurtas and shalwar kameez
dripping with last nights showers
jasmine trailing over the front
fences
brick villas, hyson green

now

this breath is
the only moment
that is
now

even the greatest pain
but memory
not me

this very moment

softly softly softly

softly softly softly the rain is falling
on the leaves gathering
in puddles in the shade by
their feet barely
visible the raindrops fall softly
softly softly
a cloud has descended
inseparable
dusk

pretending

softly rising
the moon
kisses her ear

touches the milky breasts:
a flower
quietly opening

for a moment of sweetness

pretending
to be a white lotus
rising from the mud

touched her body
bleeds
wild honey

true love

rain drops grains of
sand salt
crystals cobble
stones
summer
breeze bare
skin
deep blue sea
sun set moon light

falling star
catch!
me
(at the end of the rainbow a pot of gold)

my summer's tree

the leaves on my summer's tree

throw shadows

thickly 

and light back into the blue

the leaves on my summer's tree
grow neatly
layer upon layer
tiles on my roof

taking shelter here
planting my
feet next to the strong roots hoping
to find food
here

until the leaves fall and the birds leave and the rain
comes hold
me
my summer's tree

das leben ist eine reise im flugzeug

das leben ist eine reise in einem flugzeug; wenn man geboren wird, hebt es ab, und solange man lebt, bleiben die türen geschlossen, man muss darinnen bleiben; meistens sind die fenster klein und unter einem nur wolken, wenn man überhaupt einen fensterplatz zugewiesen bekommen hat, manchmal ist es tag und manchmal ist es nacht und die leselampen funktionieren nicht immer; man weiss nur vage, wo es hingehen könnte, man kommt ohnehin nur heraus, wenn das flugzeug ab-
       
     stürzt
______
aber vielleicht gibt es auch ein ankommen, wenn man

     stirbt