Categories
Editorial

Finding Godot?

Discard all prayers,
Meditation, hymns and rituals.
Why do you hide behind
Closed doors of temples?
....
There is no God in this house.

He has gone to visit the
Farmers who plough the hard ground,
The workers who break rocks ...


— Tagore, Dhoola Mandir or Temple of Dust (1910)

Love is a many splendoured thing and takes many forms — that stretches beyond bodily chemistry to a need to love all humankind. There is the love for one’s parents, family, practices one believes in and most of all nurtured among those who write, a love for words. For some, like Tagore, words became akin to breathing. He wrote from a young age. Eventually, an urge to bridge social gaps led him to write poetry that bleeds from the heart for the wellbeing of all humanity.  Tagore told a group of writers, musicians, and artists, who were visiting Sriniketan in 1936: “The picture of the helpless village which I saw each day as I sailed past on the river has remained with me and so I have come to make the great initiation here. It is not the work for one, it must involve all. I have invited you today not to discuss my literature nor listen to my poetry. I want you to see for yourself where our society’s real work lies. That is the reason why I am pointing to it over and over again. My reward will be if you can feel for yourself the value of this work.”

And it was perhaps to express this great love of humanity that he had written earlier in his life a poem called Dhoola Mandir that urges us to rise beyond our differences of faith and find love in serving humankind. In this month, which celebrates love with Valentine’s Day, we have a translation of this poem that is born of his love for all people, Dhoola Mandir.  Another poet who writes of his love for humanity and questions religion is Nazrul, two of whose poems have been translated by Niaz Zaman. Exploring love between a parent and children is poetry by Masood Khan translated from Bengali by Fakrul Alam. From the distant frontiers of Balochistan, we have a poem by Atta Shad, translated from Balochi by Fazal Baloch, for a fair lady — this time it is admiration. Ihlwha Choi translates poetry from Korean to express his love for a borderless world through the flight of sparrows.

Love has been taken up in poetry by Michael Burch. Borne of love is a concern for the world around us. We have powerful poetry by Maithreyi Karnoor that expresses her concern for humanity with a dash of irony or is it sarcasm? Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal expresses his admiration for the poetry of Italian Poet Antonia Pozzi (1912-1938) in poetry. We have poems by Stuart McFarlane, Pramod Rastogi, Afrida Lubaba Khan, George Freek, Saranyan BV, Ryan Quinn Flanagan and many more. Rhys Hughes brings humour into poetry and voices out in his column taking on the persona of two cities he had lived in recently. There is truth and poignancy in the voices of the cities.

Suzanne Kamata writes a light-hearted yet meaningful column on the recent Taylor Swift concert in Tokyo.  Aditi Yadav takes up the Japanese book on which was based a movie that won the 2024 Golden Globe Best Animated Feature Film Award. Sohana Manzoor journeys to London as Devraj Singh Kalsi with tongue in cheek humour comments on extracurriculars that have so become a necessity for youngsters to get to the right schools. Snigdha Agrawal gives us a slice of nostalgia while recounting the story of a Santhali lady and Keith Lyons expresses his love for peace as he writes in memory of a man who cycled for peace.

Ratnottama Sengupta also travels down the memory lane to recall her encounters with film maker Mrinal Sen as he interacted with her father, Nabendu Ghosh. She has translated an excerpt from his autobiography to highlight his interactions with Ghosh. The other excerpt is from Upamanyu Chatterjee’s latest novel, Lorenzo Searches for the Meaning of Life.

In reviews, Somdatta Mandal has explored Tahira Naqvi’s The History Teacher of Lahore: A Novel. Srijato’s A House of Rain and Snow, translated from Bengali by Maharghya Chakraborty, has been discussed by Basudhara Roy and Bhaskar Parichha has reviewed Toby Walsh’s Faking It: Artificial Intelligence in a Human World. News and Documentary Emmy Award winner (1996) Ruchira Gupta’s daring novel born of her work among human traffickers, I Kick and I Fly, has been brought to our notice by Sengupta and she converses about the book and beyond with this socially conscious activist, filmmaker and writer. Another humanist, a doctor who served by bridging gaps between patients from underprivileged backgrounds, Dr Ratna Magotra, also conversed about her autobiography, Whispers of the HeartNot Just a Surgeon: An Autobiography , where she charts her journey which led her to find solutions to take cardiac care to those who did not have the money to afford it,

We have fiction this time from Neeman Sobhan reflecting on how far people will go for the love of their mother tongue to highlight the movement that started on 21st February in 1952 and created Bangladesh in 1971. Our stories are from around the world — Paul Mirabile from France, Ravi Shankar from Malaysia, Sobhan from Bangladesh and Ravi Prakash and Apurba Biswas from India — weaving local flavours and immigrant narratives. Most poignant of all the stories is a real-life narrative under the ‘Songs of Freedom’ series by a young girl, Jyoti Kaur, translated from Hindustani by Lourdes M Supriya. These stories are brought to us in coordination with pandies’ and Shaktishalini, a women’s organisation to enable the abused. Sanjay Kumar, the founder of pandies’ and the author of a most poignant book about healing suffering of children through theatre, Performing, Teaching and Writing Theatre: Exploring Play, writes, “‘Songs of Freedom’ bring stories from women — certainly not victims, not even survivors but fighters against the patriarchal status quo with support from the organisation Shaktishalini.”

While looking forward in hope of finding a world coloured with love and kindness under the blue dome, I would like to thank our fabulous team who always support Borderless Journal with their wonderful work. A huge thanks to all of you from the bottom of my heart. I thank all the writers who make our issues come alive with their creations and readers who savour it to make it worth our while to bring out more issues. I would urge our readers to visit our contents’ page as we have more than mentioned here.

Enjoy our February fare.

Mitali Chakravarty

borderlessjournal.com

Click here to access the content’s page for the February 2024 Issue.

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Categories
Poetry

Who Moves Time and Other Poems

By Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal

Antonia Pozzi (1912-1938), Italian Poet
ONE HUNDRED AND FOUR YEARS 


After Antonia Pozzi

One hundred and four years ago you were
composing your words like a violinist was
composing musical sounds. Your words are
alive still, quivering with beauty, delirium,
and the sobs of time, as the violin strings
reach a crescendo of the loudest order.
I see your words on the page bleeding. I
feel the sharp sea breeze as if I was out
at shore. I look up at the cluster of stars,
which are your words, soft and compact
one moment, and loud and exploding
the next. Your instrument cries out loud
as if death is on your trail. You lived only
for twenty-six years. Yet, you are still alive
with these words I am reading now. Perhaps
in a hundred and four years I should be
so lucky, for someone to find mine.

WHO MOVES TIME

Who or what moves
time like the sky
moves clouds? We
cannot move time
as it inhales and
exhales its evil.
Time has no heart
or arms to lift
our burdens. Mute as
a field of weeds,
time is hard to gauge.
Like air it will not
stay in one place.
It follows its own
rules -- slow when
you are rushed, fast
when you need it
to last longer.

THIS HOUSE

This house I live in
is made of air.
If you look up at
any time of day
you will see stars,
the moon, the sun,
and clouds. It is
all windows all
around and no
walls. If you look
down, there is grass,
dirt, and cement.
I do not need doors,
plumbing, or a stove.
I keep it real
simple with a soft
pillow and thick
blankets. People
give me stuff like
food and water, a
dollar or enough
change for a hot
meal. I do not pay
rent or utility bills.
I move a lot, not
always willingly.
You know the grass
could be greener,
but I settle for
what I can get.

NOTHING BUT EMPTINESS

I left nothing
but emptiness
and useless
meanderings
for you to digest,
sparse ideas
and drunken
diatribes to
moist your
appetite.
There is more
of nothingness
I could offer,
but I do not
have the heart
to do that.

Born in Mexico, Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal lives in California and works in the mental health field in Los Angeles, CA.His poetry has been published by Blue Collar Review, Borderless Journal, Escape Into Life, Kendra Steiner Editions, Mad Swirl, SETU, and Unlikely Stories.

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