Thursday, November 28, 2019

The Cormorant < Mohan Rana>

The Cormorant

Soon a new season will start
If there is spring in this latitude
I'll change my clothes
And stroll around guided by maps
Trees will come into leaf
Birds fly back from near and far
I hope there will be no news
Of a new war
I'll clear my throat to say the half-spoken but fall silent
May this spring be so long that the memory of
Autumn does not return to the solitude of words

Spring is getting shorter each year
Each year grows shorter in spring,
So short that sometimes
Only two seasons seem to be left now -
Good and bad
Joy and sorrow
Love and fear
You and I
May spring and autumn be divided between us
And the withering rain remain all year long

I thought, let's catch the fragrance of a taste coming from the kitchen
On my sleeve and write it down
Wishing to understand something in the quiet back yard
Searching in a tiny space for a corner to stand,
Time may come soon
To divide the world
All has to be forgotten in order to remember
Alone with the inventory of necessary baggage,
Life requires not just breath
But flames of love in mind's shadows -
The hand which breaks the fall

Small change in the abacus adding the loan of drudgery
Nervous in the decrepit present, feeling my dry cheeks,
I haven't yet seen the past
From inside the mirror
When I leap in its luminous unknown
I lose one thing to gain another

 [2009} From collection 'RET KA PUL' 2012
Translation from Hindi by Lucy Rosenstein 

©  Mohan Rana 2019

Saturday, November 02, 2019

एक किताब पर प्रतिक्रिया

एक किताब पर प्रतिक्रिया

यहाँ जमकर बारिश हो रही है यानि बाहर भीतर धुलाई ,
अच्छे मौसम की आशा में हम कपड़े धोते हैं
 पर समय के निशान शायद प्रकृति भी नहीं मिटा पाती
और वे और गहरे और पक्के होते जाते हैं। 
इन पंक्तियों के संस्‍कारों की संवेदना पुर्नभव हो घनीभूत  होती जाती है
लिखकर धोते धोते उन शब्दों को जो अप्रयास लौटते
सायास भूलने पर भी उन्हीं के सहारे।

©  28.8.16

Tuesday, August 06, 2019

रेत का पुल/ RET KA PUL

Mohan Rana's poetry is always tuned to sounds from near and afar. At the same time it captures in its images the essence of close and distant sights. In his poetry memories too play an important role. Weaving together all of these, it connects us with experiences which are very rare. They expand our vision and their subtle connections hand us some invisible strings of perception. Passing through these experiences is pleasant, yet often the questions and the sting of pain present in them provoke us to appraise reality anew. Reading his poetry acquaints us with the intimate side of daily life in a new way. At the same time, it takes us along at the speed of lightning and makes us travel through new dimensions of everyday social and family life. Written in accomplished language, his poetry attracts us also with its natural charm.
These qualities are abundantly present in Mohan Rana’s new collection. Moreover, it is notable that in it he has also invented a new poetic language for himself. These poems have a new cadence. Urdu poetic forms have been included and this naturally reminds us of the poetic range of a lyricist like Shamsher.
These poems have wide concerns. They are not only restless in their search for life-values in a changed global world; there is also a dreaminess about them. They enter the deepest folds of the psyche in a new manner, and at the same time look at the happenings in the outside world with a piercing gaze; world which is flooded with scraps of language yet language itself has to overcome this deluge to regain its pure form. This collection has made the terrain of Mohan Rana's poetry more fertile and given Hindi poetry itself a personal expression which will attract the attention of many.

Prayag Shukla   18/7/12

Wednesday, January 30, 2019

मोहन राणा की तीन कवितायें

मोहन राणा की तीन कवितायें

Mohan Rana
मोहन राणा

मोहन राणा ने उपरोक्त तीन कवितायें विशेष तौर पर के लिए भेजी हैं।   

Tuesday, January 08, 2019

Time Zone

Who is time?

कालः सुप्तेषु जागर्ति कालो हि दुरतिक्रमः ।
कालः सर्वेषु भूतेषु चरत्यविधृतः समः ।। १/२५०॥[महाभारत /आदिपर्व]

The Cartographer

The Cartographer Between the lines it’s you, absent, but a silent presence just as the rain is absent in the passing clouds. Th...